


The Fleet Foxes Detective Agency

by transandrewminyard (nocturnalboys)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: 1930s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Detective Noir, Enemies to Lovers, Jazz Age, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Smoking, Trans Andrew Minyard, Trans Male Character, Trans Neil Josten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-09-13 09:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnalboys/pseuds/transandrewminyard
Summary: In a catastrophic post-1929 Boston, the stock market crash and violent, unpredictable weather have dissolved the young nation known as America. Replacing it, a new lawless world rises, the nation-state of Independence, run by elite families who have the cash and clout to keep their grip on the survivors of the Crash. Andrew Minyard and Renee Walker, private eyes and owners of the Fleet Foxes Detective Agency, are the law, solving crimes in exchange for making their livelihood. When Andrew meets Neil Josten, jazz singer and objectively handsome man, he feels himself falling- into the realm of a new mystery, one that he isn't entirely sure he's prepared to solve, and a case that could radically change Independence forever.





	1. As Time Goes By

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I made a playlist of songs I listen to while I write this fic of mine! I thought some of y'all might get a kick out of it. Anyway , here you go: https://open.spotify.com/user/transboyhakuryuu/playlist/2M84HZu41AXPqnw8LlJPoS?si=TDuG9j0mQ5aP3fvzVpGwQg

March 13th, 1933  
Half past four in the afternoon  
Back Bay, Boston, Independence

_You must remember this_ , the young man onstage sang, hands clasping the microphone. Outside, green-black clouds hovered over the Charles River, twisting into a hypnotic vortex of dust. _A kiss is still a kiss_ , and his voice reverberated in the filmy speakers, a blip of feedback skipping like a stone in the pool of jazz and sound, reaching Andrew Minyard where he sat in the back of the bar. On the red-brick walls of the bar, the silty wind hissed, god’s voice casting Adam and Eve out of one Eden and into another. _A sigh is just a sigh_ , the young man’s mouth touched the microphone, and damn if he wasn’t giving it his all for a slow mid-afternoon crowd. _The fundamental things apply_ , his eyes were closed, lightly, and for an instant Andrew stopped paying attention to the typewritten pages in front of him, _As time goes by_ , he sang, everything in the dirty little room seeming to float an inch or two off the floor with the ecstasy of the notes in his voice. 

The spell ended all too quickly. The scuffed tables and chairs came back to earth as a soft sound brought Andrew back too. Renee Walker cleared her throat, tapping one page with a finger. “Sorry, you kind of trailed off, what were you saying about this part?”

Right. Back to business. “I’m saying it’s weird that he starts rambling here, giving all these details. I didn’t ask him about any of this. Earlier he was giving blunt, one-word answers. Then I bring up the blood in the trunk and I get this whole dumbass story about fresh venison.”

“Yeah, and it’s not like hunting is illegal yet. Nothing to get nervous about in the first place.” Renee tapped her fingernails on the margin of the page. “The real problem with this case is I feel like there’s something bigger going on. Yeah, it’s a murder, the family wants it solved, but… no, maybe I’m biased.”

“I don’t blame you.” Andrew took a sip of the bourbon he had been nursing all afternoon. It was only about half-way gone. “I’ve been feeling like that the whole time I’ve been on the job. Ever since the Crash there’s always been something bigger. But who’s paying us to give a fuck about what it is?”

Renee shrugged, a few pieces of pale, chin-length hair sliding out from behind her ear as she bent over the case notes. “Maybe we shouldn’t have to be paid? But you’re right. Not our business. So what do you think?”

“I don’t think he did it. There was no connection, no motive.” Another small sip. “I think he got paid or threatened, possibly both, to do the dirty work and then shut up about it. I would’ve pressed him harder, but there wouldn’t have been a point. We just need to figure out who his connections are. It won’t be that hard, just a few questions in the right places.” And a few well-aimed threats. Or punches. The trail didn’t seem like it would be too difficult to follow, and in no time they’d bring the perpetrator to justice.

Now he allowed himself to down the rest of the bourbon. Their day was done for now. The young man onstage was still singing, something about a blue moon. Andrew wasn’t keen on staying in this shithole all night, but the man’s voice added some badly-needed ambiance to the place. Renee, arguably the more responsible half of the Fleet Foxes Detective Agency, gave him a look. “Already? I was ready to get back out there. If it’s gonna be as easy to follow up on this as you think, why not get it over with?”

“It’s been enough running around for one day, I don’t have it in me to give a shit anymore. Can we get out of here? It’s depressing. Let’s go back to the North End, see who’s around.” Standing up, Andrew pulled his thick wool coat over his rumpled button-up and waistcoat. “Unless you want to keep going solo.”

Pushing back her chair, Renee tugged on her pastel blue cloche hat, a smile playing over her small mouth. “No way. I don’t fly solo, not anymore. We need each other in this, I thought you realized that by now? North End sounds good to me. Let’s get going before it gets any worse outside.”

Onstage, the band took a short break, the singer letting out a soft breath as his song trailed into disparate notes. Andrew found himself looking towards him again, involuntarily, and what struck him were the little details - bandages on his fingers, still clasping the microphone, a blotch of stage makeup on his cheek, the blue of his eyes like the harbor on a bright Summer afternoon. And then he and Renee were back in the fierce wind, the foul sky churning. Ever since the Crash, the weather was unpredictable as all hell. It was almost Spring, yet the wind was arctic some days, scorching on others. It had been this way for four years.

Infrastructure was in the hands of the Independence elite, so the tram was prone to frequent outages, but Andrew still had his car from freshman year of university. It was lovely, despite all it had been through, a gleaming black Packard Convertible Victoria. Renee slid into the passenger seat, as usual. She knew she wasn’t even allowed in the driver’s seat of the Victoria. With a low purr, the Victoria’s engine came to life, Andrew guiding the vehicle away from the curb and into the twisting knot of Boston streets. There were few pedestrians. The caps of tent cities in vacant lots fluttered as the wind buffeted them.

Renee reached toward the radio dial on the dashboard, but Andrew shook his head. “Not in the mood for any more music. What was that song back in there? The first one.”

“Hey, I was paying more attention to the case than to the ambiance,” Renee shrugged, “Beats me. It did sound nice though. Are we going back to the Tower first, or checking on Aaron?”

“Tower first.” Andrew fed the car a little more gas, the grey buildings and litter at the roadside blurring at the edges. With no other cars on the road, it was safe to push the limits. On days like these, the Boston streets were Andrew’s own private speedway. Renee gripped the side of her seat, but didn’t protest; by now, she knew it would be futile to try. These parts of the city were the first to clear out after the Crash, down on their luck folks leaving for the country or a collective.

Near the Public Garden more cars began to appear on the twisting streets, and Andrew was forced to slow. Something in him still itched to bring the car back to full speed, try to run this gauntlet, slip in and out of traffic like his reflexes told him he could, and who was going to stop him? Maybe Renee, but since he was really the only law on the streets now, was he supposed to arrest himself? In the end, he kept the car at 30, letting himself become trapped behind several Fords.

Before 1929, Andrew had been reluctantly enrolled in Boston College. It was better than being home, but he still had to pretend to care about doing homework, which by now truly was a thing of the past. He was studying criminology and forensics. His twin, Aaron, had gone to Harvard Medical. Both twins played in the collegiate football league, Andrew with some difficulty. His life was a series of boxes other people pushed him into. 

That all ended with the Crash, because the society he had been trapped in simply ceased to exist. The banks failed. The government went bankrupt. Suddenly, America was no longer a nation, and violent weather patterns from the Dust Bowl consumed the continent. So Andrew dropped out of the college that no longer really mattered. Aaron, with his rudimentary medical schooling, was able to lend him a hand in becoming someone new, the person he always felt he had been deep down. He was Andrew Minyard, and the bureaucracy that had his birth certificate on file no longer existed and nobody cared. Independence, a loose state borne out of Massachusetts and Southern Maine was controlled by old families, still rich in gold and loyalty from a long history of being on top. The city needed a little order, a little karma, so Andrew took what education he could recall and founded Fleet Foxes Detective Agency. 

An angry horn honking at him startled Andrew back into the Victoria, Renee looking expectantly at him from the passenger’s seat. “I think that guy wants to pass you,” she frowned, twisting to look at the car riding their bumper, a blue Cadillac. 

“Masshole.” Andrew muttered. “I don’t care. Let him sit there.”

The car followed them for eight blocks before turning away down an alley. Strange, Andrew thought, but once it was gone it passed out of his mind as quickly as it had come.


	2. I'll Be Seeing You

March 13th, 1933  
Nine forty-five at night  
North End, Boston, Independence  
The Backward Pawn

Andrew hated dancing. He was well aware that his feet could never find the right rhythm, that embracing a stranger on the dance floor was not something he was quite capable of. So he sat in one corner of the club, cracking a window to let cigarette smoke curl into the suddenly hot night air, watching Renee move along to the upbeat swing music with her girl, Allison. It was enough to watch her enjoy the night, and the warm breeze on the back of his neck felt nice, although it was just another sign of how sick the world was.

He had told himself he wouldn’t work anymore, but his mind kept wandering back to the case. A missing young man, his distraught parents. His disappearance off the corner of Newbury Street. Blood in a trunk. His body discovered in a truly despicable condition ten days later, on the steps of Trinity Church. Andrew still had the photos Renee took in the pocket of his overcoat, although it would be the wrong move to take them out here. He would solve this tomorrow. Tonight he wanted to let his thoughts just float away, like his second-hand smoke into the blackness outside the window.

Renee spun Allison, and the woman’s long curls shone in the dim light. Andrew hated dancing, but being able to see Renee find her rhythm, catch sight of the smile on her face as she kissed her girl’s cheek, was somehow comforting. 

The club was almost full that night, bodies shifting and shuffling like playing cards on the dance floor. There was a warmth, a comradery. Andrew took a deep drag, the smoke hot and heavy in his chest as he held it. If he let his focus slip, it was almost as though he could feel the chemicals diffusing, spreading to every extremity, and it felt so good to just be blood and nicotine and nothing else.

He parted his lips to release the smoke he was keeping prisoner, but just as he was about to he caught sight of the door opening and closing, three men stepping into the club. Now he was paying attention. First into the room, holding a lacquered black cane, came Riko Moriyama, nephew of Tetsuji Moriyama - the man who owned half of Independence. The Backward Pawn wouldn’t be one of his usual haunts. Beside him, wearing a sleek black suit that must be worth a fortune, his adoptive brother Kevin Day, a brittle smile sewn into his lips. However, it was the third man that took Andrew most off his guard. Those blue eyes, the bandages on his fingers, the soft charcoal grey of his suit. It’s the same man from the bar, the singer. As shocked as he is to see the heirs to Independence marching into the club, seeing him again, coincidence though it might be, does something strange to Andrew’s stomach. He hates it.

Andrew remembered to exhale just as a cough was rising in his throat. Expelling the smoke, only some of which went out the window, he watched as the three men headed for the bar. They seemed to be friends. Was he only imagining that the third man was the singer? Why was he thinking so hard about this anyway? Regardless, he kept watching. The man was short, even shorter than Moriyama. He didn’t order alcohol, only a glass of ice water. There was something familiar about him, the way he moved and held his shoulders back. 

“So how are we feeling? Just thinking?” The song ended, and Renee, along with Allison, joined Andrew at his table.

Andrew grit his teeth, but only a little. “No. Look, over there.”

Both women turned their heads to the bar. Allison’s thin blond eyebrows leaped up her forehead. “Oh, shit. When did they come in? I can get someone to kick them out. But maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Not even a minute ago. I can’t figure out why they’re here at all.” Andrew’s cigarette was no more than a stub now. He put it out on the windowsill, leaving a tiny black scorch mark. “Do you know who that one is? The ginger?”

Allison pursed her lips, her thumb rubbing a pattern over Renee’s knuckles. “Huh. He seems familiar. I know a lot of people, Minyard, but I don’t know everyone. Why?”

“He was at Eden’s earlier today.” Renee frowned. “I just thought it was nice that they hired new entertainment. Andrew liked one of his songs.”

“‘Like’ is a strong word.” Andrew compulsively reached for his waistcoat pocket and his lighter, moving on to the next cigarette.

“Do you think he’s one of them? The King’s Men?” Allison looked quickly back at them again, using the colloquial term for the Moriyamas’ inner circle.

Andrew tried and failed to blow a smoke ring. “I don’t know if I even care. He’s with them, he may as well be. Fuckers.”

“Then why do you care?” With the tip of her flat, Allison poked Andrew’s leg beneath the table. “You keep looking over there you know. You can’t say you don’t give a shit in theory, and then in practice continue to give so many shits.”

Had he really been staring? “Amazing, how suddenly this is becoming your problem. Walker, can you shut your doll up?”

“Hey.” Renee grabbed the cigarette out of Andrew’s hand, tossing it out the window. “Don’t talk about her like she’s not here. And anyway, you do care. The King’s Men don’t even know who you are, Andrew. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Why in the entire fuck would I do that?”

“You’re not in a war with them. It doesn’t matter if he’s one of the King’s Men or not.” With a knowing look, Renee motioned Andrew towards the bar. “I can tell when you think a man is good-looking, I’m not dumb. Talking to him won’t hurt.”

Did he want to talk to him? Tonight wasn’t one of those nights where he wanted to isolate himself. It wasn’t one where the thought of contact revulsed him. The red-head at the bar wasn’t threatening. Yet he was so far away. And what would Andrew say? Hooking up with men for one night because he needed it/felt lonely/wanted to be taken out of his head was one thing. Actually talking to one sober was another. He must have made a face because Renee laughed softly. “I know. It’s hard. I’m just teasing. If you want I can talk to him for you.”

Andrew laughed, sharply, shaking his head. “What would that do?”

“I don’t know, let him know you’re interested? And I can see why, he’s kind of winsome. I’ll tell him you liked his singing?”

Allison patted Renee’s shoulder. “I’m sure Andrew would appreciate that. Wouldn’t he?”

What the hell did he have to lose, aside from his dignity? “Fine. Fine, go tell him. But don’t put words in my mouth.” He let out a long breath, lighting a third cigarette. “And tell him he has pretty eyes.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, and before he could stop her Renee was already shimmying through the crowd, making a beeline for the bar. The man seemed startled when she tapped on his shoulder, and Andrew could see a sheepish smile emerge on his face once Renee started talking.

Suddenly, his eyebrows jumped and he turned in surprise, as though searching the room for Andrew. Fuck. He looked away quickly, out the window. By the time he felt calm enough to face the room again, Renee was returning, a tumbler full of bourbon in one hand. “He sent this over, said he noticed you ordering it in Eden’s.” She grinned, setting it on the table in front of him. “His name is Neil Josten. At least that’s what he told me. And he says he didn’t bring a dance partner, if you… you know what I’m saying right?”

“I’m well fucking aware of what you’re saying. I hate dancing. Is it shitty to take his drink if I don’t talk to him ever again?”

“He paid for it, but it’s your drink now. No laws, do whatever you want with it.” Renee nudged the glass towards him. “He seemed sort of lonely. Moriyama and Day were talking to each other, but he was just kind of there. I can’t put together why.”

Andrew wanted to figure him out. 

But the gulf was too wide.

“I’m staying over here.” He downed half the drink. “We have a case to solve tomorrow. This is interesting but not worth the effort.”

Renee sighed, but nodded. “Okay, and I support you in that. We’re gonna keep dancing. If you want to leave soon we can.”

“I don’t want to leave yet. I’m still thinking. Go dance.” He shooed the two of them away, leaning back in his chair and sipping the rest of the bourbon. Interesting that Neil, if that was even his name, would remember what he had to drink hours ago. He really should stop thinking about this. But Neil was under his skin now, and the nicotine was soothing and the alcohol was giving him more than his fill of stupid courage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet. Nothing like a little mindless fun. This could be like any other guy, there was no need to treat it with some kind of gravity.

Only one problem - it was too late. By the time he got to the bar, all three men were gone. Maybe Neil found another man to dance with. Trying not to be disappointed, which he definitely wasn’t, Andrew ordered another drink and resolved to attempt forgetting about it.

In no time, he was on drink number three. Hopefully Renee wouldn’t mind if he was hungover tomorrow.

There was a soft tap on his shoulder. “Minyard, right?” Came a voice, soft, low, perfect for drawn-out syncopated harmonies.

Tensing, Andrew spun around to face the singer. “That’s me.” Of course it was him, of course he didn’t leave. “I don’t really like dancing. I’m shitty at it.” What else was he supposed to say?

Neil Josten wasn’t tall, only an inch or so more than Andrew himself. Up close, his hair was not so much red as it was a lovely auburn. His face was well-covered in stage makeup, which made sense for his profession, but what didn’t make sense was how Andrew felt looking at him. Like standing in front of a truck, waiting to jump out of the way. His mouth was small, but looked soft, and he quirked it in a smile. “That’s fine with me, I don’t like it either. I just didn’t know how else to get you to come over here.”

There was something else odd about Neil, but Andrew couldn’t put his finger on what. Perhaps it was intuition. Perhaps it was just paranoia. “Mhm. But you wanted me over here.”

A little laugh. It felt… more honest than the rest of him. Maybe it was all the bourbon, but suddenly all Andrew could think about was the way that perfect suit would look crumpled up on his bedroom floor back at the Tower. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t exactly come here with friends.” He looked around, his eyes almost glowing in the dim light. “Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. They’re acquaintances. What about you?”

“I came here with friends.” Andrew admitted, and it felt good. “Josten, I know we both hate dancing. How much do you hate pool? I could go for a game.”

“I would be interested, if someone was willing to play. Are we bringing your friends?” He was wearing a fat gold ring on one of his unbandaged hands, the signet shaped like a heavily stylized meat cleaver. A fashion statement, to say the least.

Would having Allison and Renee there help? Or would it only distract him? “Oh, no. I’m more into one-on-one.” Andrew slid off his stool, brushing a bit of cigarette ash off his waistcoat. He was really doing this, wasn’t he? Neil was already walking along the edge of the crowd, toward the pool lounges, holding open the door of the first empty room for Andrew. Like a fucking gentleman or something.

Even most of the way to drunk, Andrew knew his way around a pool cue. One of his better childhood homes had had a pool room, and it was more peaceful alone, playing against himself, than anywhere else in the house. They didn’t talk much as he played, and Andrew couldn’t think of anything meaningful to say. He would probably embarrass himself if he tried. Neil didn’t seem to mind either, concentrating mostly on the game. And he was good, almost as good as Andrew. His smile as he scored three times in a row was equally coy and infuriating.

Andrew wanted to punch something. In the yellow light, Neil felt like something he was dreaming. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he was here, doing this. And he was losing. He was losing by a lot now. He probably shouldn’t have let himself drink this much before playing a game that mostly hinged on judgment and perception.

Now it was only the eight ball. Andrew could feel some kind of pride radiating off Neil as he lined up the cue, closed one eye to judge the angle and fuck it, he wasn’t going to let this just happen. Grabbing the cue with one hand, he lifted it away from the table. “We already know how this ends, I think.” He sighed. “Congratulations, Josten. What do you want for your prize?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with giving me.” He said, and the look on his face said he meant it. This couldn’t be real, because that felt like the most earnest thing Neil had told him all night. There was so much more than met the eye to him, Andrew could feel that.

So instead of asking for any number of things his body was telling him that it was okay to want, Andrew pulled a business card from his suit pocket. “It says Fleet Foxes, but the number connects right to my apartment. This is what I’m comfortable giving you.”

Neil leaned back on the pool table, ring glinting against the green felt, and with his other hand he took the card. “Detective agency, huh?” There was a twitch on his face, a microexpression unreadable, even to Andrew’s practiced eye. “You won’t have any trouble finding me again. I think I better get going. Thanks for a good game.”

Then he was gone. 

This was a mystery, thought Andrew. Neil was a mystery. Was he willing to solve this puzzle even if he didn’t get paid?


	3. Nice Work If You Can Get It

March 15th, 1933  
Nine in the morning  
Newbury Street, Boston, Independence

Maybe Andrew had spoken too soon when he said this would be an easy case, because so far all he had come up with were dead ends and silent witnesses. After the latest round of useless questioning, he settled for pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. Renee, carefully sipping from a styrofoam cup of coffee, watched him pensively. Was she upset that he misinterpreted the way this case would go? If she was, she didn’t show it. She was as patient as she ever was.

“You were right. I don’t know what to do about it, but there is something bigger going on here.” Andrew lit a cigarette before simply dropping it to the sidewalk and scuffing it out with the sole of his shoe. “You saw that boy. I saw the pictures. What happened to him… revolting. How can we leave this one hanging?”

He had been completely dismembered, skin flayed, limbs bent: a sadist craft project. Andrew had never been perturbed by gore, but this made his stomach turn. Why wouldn’t anyone talk? Who could be holding an entire neighborhood hostage?

Renee frowned. “I know. We can’t. We shouldn’t close the case, we need to keep our eyes open for more leads, but I think for now we should take on some other cases too. Other people need help, and we’re wasting our time chewing out folks who are scared of someone much bigger than us.”

His anger burning a low flame in his gut, Andrew looked up at the eerily blue, calm sky. “But what if they just need to get pushed around? I’m sure I could make them let something slip. We just need one clue. One person. But I agree, we should go back to the office for now.” He did not agree. And he knew that if Renee was not there, he would already be making a menace of himself.

They really couldn’t fly solo, either of them. One without the other was not enough.

So Andrew got back into the Victoria, let the hum of the engine soothe him as much as it could. “Did anyone schedule a consultation today?” He asked absently, because he sure as fuck didn’t remember. And then he didn’t listen to the answer. He would find out when he got back anyway.

The Tower was one of the tallest apartment buildings left standing after the Crash. Allison’s family had owned it in the 20’s, and somehow it had become the Fleet Foxes’ home. It was a safe haven in a city full of wrong turns and dead ends, and Andrew was grateful for it. He was ready to go back now. But just as he was about to get back onto the road, a young woman ran from the stoop of one tenement building, her simple red dress flashing like a signal flare. Andrew stopped the engine, rolled down the window, the girl breathlessly moving close to the Victoria.

“Well?” Andrew leaned in. He remembered talking to her before, but she, like everyone else on the street, hadn’t had much to say. “Did you want to tell me something?”

She gave a frightened doe look to the street around her, and seeing no one she lowered her head almost into the car. “I saw a man pay my father. It was after everything happened. I was watching from the stairs, and he couldn’t see me. The man said if my father wanted to keep me safe he would keep his loyalty to the Butcher. So I didn’t end up like the other boy. And then he said the money was from his father, if it would help him keep his word.”

Beside him, Renee was already grabbing her portable typewriter, jamming in a fresh sheet of paper. The girl was afraid, Andrew could feel it radiating off her. “What did he look like? I need as much as you can remember.”

“He was young. There were two other men with him, bruisers. He had… a ring, I could see it when he handed my father the money. He had red hair, and he was wearing… I think a grey suit. That’s all.” The girl pulled back from the window. “I’m going back inside, I hope you catch him!” And then she was running for the door, slipping back into the darkness of the building.

Renee let out a long breath. “Andrew. Minyard. You didn’t.”

“Lots of men have rings and red hair and wear grey, Renee.” Andrew muttered, feeling like a fucking moron. “Anyway his hair isn’t even really red, it’s… auburn. Softer. There’s depth to it.”

“Andrew…” Renee groaned, closing her typewriter.

“But it’s possible. That it’s the same man.” He couldn’t have anything nice, could he? Andrew didn’t know who the Butcher was, but he was willing to take a wild fucking guess that he was one of the King’s Men. The moniker certainly fit the way the dead boy’s corpse had been treated. And was he supposed to believe Neil was his son? “Dammit. Now I see why he was hanging around Day and Moriyama. I knew there was something weird about him, I felt it, but I thought maybe it was just…”

“That you liked him?” Renee guessed. “Well. I don’t know how much you’re going to like this idea, but I have one.”

“Don’t hold back. My day is already shitty enough as it is.”

Knotting her fingers in her lap, Renee glanced out the window. “You have an in with him, Andrew. Whatever Neil Josten has to do with this, right now he just thinks you’re a man he almost picked up at The Backward Pawn. One that he clearly also liked. Whether he committed the murder or not, he’s involved with something. You could play dumb, trick him into letting information slip. What I’m saying is… you could be our honeypot.”

“That’s… dishonest as all hell. But I think I can do it.” The words rang in Andrew’s ears as he said them, surprising even him. Could he? Well, it wasn’t much worse off from other things he’d done. “I can get him to let his guard down at least. I’ll have to play it completely straight though. Act like I don’t know anything. I’ll need your help too, you can’t let anything slip either. As long as this stays between us, that’s only two people who know this is a scheme. Less vulnerability.”

But was it even a scheme? Some part of Andrew’s mind wanted to believe Neil still had nothing to do with this. Because fuck it, he did like him, just a little bit. What would he be doing singing his heart out in Eden’s if his real life was truly so different? There was a sliver of Andrew that wanted him anyway. 

He could shut that sliver off. This was serious. Feeling suddenly burnt out, he let his head fall down onto the steering wheel, gripping the ten and two until he could feel his fingertips tingling from lack of blood. There was movement, a vague warmth - he nodded slightly, and Renee gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know.” She sighed. “If anybody can do this it’s you. And I know.”

Andrew was grateful for Renee Walker in many ways, but he was most grateful for _her_ , for the way she was. If he was going to honestly say he called any person in this city a friend, it would be her. There were some things he could never tell anyone, but she knew more than most, and he accepted this, relied on it in his own way. It was a relief to have one person he knew was on his side.

Eventually he sat up, moved her hand from his shoulder. “Alright. Back to the Tower. If this goes how we want it too, I may have a phone call to take soon.”

“It’s Wednesday,” Renee reminded him as they made it back onto the road, “Do you want to see Aaron now? Or later? You need your shots.”

Andrew shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t want to see him. It’s nothing personal, I’m just not in the mood. I don’t want his little judgy eyes on me.”

“Are you going to forget?”

“I’m probably going to forget. I’ll try to get in and out fast. It’s shitty that he won’t let me do them myself.” He turned a corner, driving past the abandoned Massachusetts State House, glancing at the boarded windows, the empty flagpole. Forgotten as usual.

Renee smoothed down her black slacks, stretching out her legs over where the typewriter case sat on the floor of the car. “I agree, but he is the only one who knows how this stuff works. God forbid you mess something up and it all goes downhill. I’m not a doctor and neither are you.”

“I could never be. Too much responsibility. And math.” Andrew slowed the car, pulling over on the curb a block away from the former Massachusetts General. He could smell the Charles River as he stepped out of the car, not quite briny but a heavy, brackish odor. He had swum in it once, on a dare. One of the worst decisions he’d ever made. The brown water was probably too polluted for Satan to drink.

Renee leaned out her window. “Do you want me to come? Moral support?”

“No.” Andrew shook his head. “I’ll be right back, really.”

This was his 170th shot. He expected it to go just like the other 169 shots that came before it. Aaron was a shithead, but he was Andrew’s brother, and there was something to be said about what he was doing for him. In a city where adequate medical care now cost an insane amount of money, Aaron had been helping Andrew transition since the Crash, providing free treatment, free prescriptions, and last year, free surgery. Overall, it would have come to thousands of dollars, even from the organization Aaron belonged to, the Society of Independence Medical Providers. They had held out from taking sides in a city where almost nothing was neutral. But at the end of the day that took a lot of cash. Bribes were not cheap.

Andrew knew Aaron did not have to help him. This was experimental medicine too, and the hormones he was using were normally supposed to be for old men with low testosterone and shitty libidos. But he _was_ helping, and even if Andrew didn’t understand why, he did appreciate it.

Before Andrew knew it, his feet had taken him inside. It was sterile and still in the Massachusetts General building, the emergency room covered in plastic tarps, only a few metal stools set out for patients. A counter sat on the other end of the room, a thick metal grate drawn down around all sides, a tiny opening marking the place where the receptionist was sitting, shielded from view by the grill. Andrew crossed the floor, his chelsea boots squeaking on the tile. “I’m here for Doctor Minyard. Tell him it’s Andrew.” He said, and behind the grate the sound of movement reached him.

In a minute or two, a heavy bolt shifted behind a set of double doors near the counter, Aaron Minyard pulling one halfway open. “Hey Andrew.” He looked Andrew up and down, stepping away from the entrance to the hospital proper. “Here for your shot? Or did you get shot?”

“I haven’t been shot at in a while, thanks.” Andrew muttered, shoving past his twin. “Let’s get it over with.”


	4. Someone To Watch Over Me

March 16th, 1933  
Ten in the Evening  
Fleet Foxes Detective Agency Office, Boston, Independence

Andrew didn’t know whether to be elated or disappointed that Neil never called him. The rotary phone sat, quietly, on the edge of his cluttered desk. Renee was out with Allison, having a romantic dinner or something. He hadn’t quite been listening to her when she left. The office was too quiet, the tartan chairs opposite the desk empty and accusing, the shades drawn to cut out the city lights, Andrew’s feet plopped on top of a file folder on the desk. The radio was off, lurking in the other corner of the room next to the single-bulb lamp, which attempted with valor to light the whole twilight space.

Neil had never called him, and Andrew was both tired and wide fucking awake, and he needed something to move before he lost his mind. A slight tremor went through him. He wanted to smoke, but he was out of cigarettes, and he wasn’t in the mood to go out and get any more. Digging through one desk drawer, he hunted for a bottle of whiskey he vaguely remembered having, but came up empty. He wanted _something_.

He could look at the other cases, minor shit really, missing pets, runaway daughters, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on that for shit. Vaguely, Andrew knew he was hungry, but there wasn’t anything in the office to eat, and he didn’t feel like it either; his stomach said yes, but his mouth said no.

Maybe he could try to nap. Or just close his eyes. At least until Renee got back. Andrew settled back in the chair, shifting his feet on the desk.

And then the phone rang.

Andrew jumped, the file folders spilling their guts out on the desk, and he grabbed for the receiver. “Yes? Operator?” He breathed, and fuck him why was this what he needed tonight?

“Fleet Foxes? I have a Mr. Josten on the line for you, can I connect?”

Of course. “Yes. Do it. Thank you.” Andrew swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

There was static, the crackling of the phone wires, the connection. A breath, faint background noise. “Minyard?” His voice was disembodied and spliced through electricity, but it was Neil, and Andrew wanted to throw the phone out the window.

“Yeah, it’s me. You sure took your sweet time.” Andrew said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Well, here I am, go on.”

Neil laughed, nervously. His voice was sweet. So stupid. “So, I have a show tonight. It’s not at Eden’s. Usually some of my friends come watch me, but everyone ended up busy. I’ll be at The Castle at eleven, and my show starts at twelve. So what I’m asking is, do you want to come listen?”

The Castle was possibly the fanciest, most high-brow establishment in Independence, mostly because it was Riko Moriyama’s pet project. Andrew had been to the building a couple times, to drop off his cousin Nicky, who tended bar there every once a while, and the imposing club lorded over the wharf of Boston Harbor, the truest thing to a real castle the city had.

Was Andrew going to just waltz in there? “Why wouldn’t I?” He forced himself to answer, easily. “I’ll be there.” He was already hunting for his coat. It was snowing outside today, at least last time he checked. “I’ll wait for you on the wharf.” Andrew wasn’t dressed nearly nice enough for this, in black slacks and a button-down. He grabbed a tie, then his least wrinkled waistcoat. His hair was so fucked. “See you at eleven?”

“See you at eleven,” Neil replied. Was it just Andrew’s imagination if he thought there was excitement in his tone?

Andrew practically threw the receiver back onto the desk. He was buzzing under the skin, and he quickly combed his hair with his fingers, messily knotted his tie. Now he had to go to a drugstore and pick up cigarettes. There was one owned by the Trojan family not far away and he didn’t have any particular qualms with their family at the moment. He had twenty five minutes.

The elevator in The Tower was a little on the older side, but she was sturdy. Andrew’s office was on the 15th floor, and he was not about to run down 15 flights of stairs for a man. Locking his office, he hustled down the hallway, nearly punching the call button until he could hear the rattling of the pulleys inside. With a clank, the cage rose up behind the outer door, which Andrew threw open. Pulling aside the gold grate, he leapt in, slamming the gate and door closed behind him. Twenty three minutes.

It was still snowing outside, but the Victoria started just fine. Andrew bought two packs of cigarettes, and breaking open one carton while still in the store, he was already smoking by the time he got back in the car. Fifteen minutes.

He should not feel like this. Even with the nicotine in him, his heart was doing something alarming, dancing a jig on his ribs and if he could, he would rip it out and stomp on it as he stomped on the gas pedal.

With two minutes to spare, Andrew parked the Victoria alongside the wharf. He was on his second cigarette, rapidly approaching a third. The snow wasn’t so much falling as it was dancing, the current of wind off the black harbor buoying the flakes until they swirled drunkenly around Andrew. The glow from The Castle was a violent vision, poison yellow light blasting into the chiaroscuro dark of the wharf, harsh music inside, the court of the King’s Men four towering floors of Moriyama money and polished shoes moving to swing time.

There were multiple bouncers guarding the entrance. Andrew leaned against the Victoria to wait for Neil. His feet were cold. In the third floor window, a man spun a woman in a black gown, and then they were gone, moved away to the rhythm of the music.

What if Neil didn’t show up? What if it was a trick? The paranoid carousel began again. There was so much that could go wrong.

Crunched footsteps on the new-fallen snow, the heat of breath dissipating in the cold night. There was Neil, wearing a silver-grey suit, snowflakes catching and contrasting in the red of his hair. “Hey, sorry for being late, I got a little held up,” it didn’t take him long to catch his breath, “are you ready to go in?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Andrew allowed the hint of a smile onto his lips. For fuck’s sake.

Looking back and forth between the doors and Andrew, Neil seemed almost like he was about to say something more, but eventually he turned, heading for the entrance. As though in a dream, Andrew followed him. He was both relieved and insulted that Neil didn’t offer him his arm. Neil smiled at the bouncers, giving them a little nod, and the men parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Heat blasted from inside the club as the doors whooshed open, the ice crystals in Neil’s hair melting somewhat.

“The stage I’ll be using is on the fourth floor,” Neil said, but the words hardly registered. Andrew knew the place would be lavish, but he was unprepared for the extent of it. Black marble floors, two bars, a diamond chandelier drew his attention instantly, then the big band on the left-hand side of the room, playing like it was the end of the world. There was so much movement, dancers giving each step their all. A red oak staircase sprang upwards in the far right corner, and what little Andrew could see of the next floor looked scantily clad.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, absently handing his coat to an attendant who spirited it away.

Neil laughed nervously. “It’s kind of a lot. Sorry. I didn’t exactly warn you. Um. Yeah. Whenever you’re ready we can go up.” He looked genuinely apologetic. Andrew couldn’t help wondering again what about him was real and what was a red herring.

Andrew allowed him another faint smile. “It’s alright. Don’t drive yourself crazy. I’ll get used to it soon enough anyway, it’s not so different from other busy clubs.” He could do this. The worst thing about his mental state wasn’t the molasses drip of ennui into his mind, sapping his energy; it was the need to do anything that would wake him up, stun him, engage him. Some days the thought of skin on skin was so foul it made Andrew physically ill. Tonight, standing next to Neil, it was the rush he needed, no matter the implications. Andrew offered one hand, raising an eyebrow, hoping Neil would catch on.

His face was still masked by concealer, but Andrew thought he could see a hint of redness color Neil’s cheeks as he took Andrew’s hand. “Alright then, I should just lead you there. The next floor up is the strip club, and the third floor is the casino. So yeah.” Neil went to push through the crowd, and Andrew could only feel the slight roughness of Neil’s palm, the cold ring on his index finger, the gauzey bandages. It was a small hand, but strong, warm. He hoped he wasn’t holding it too tightly.

It still wasn’t enough. Andrew wanted to be drunk, to break something, to get in a fight. But he had to stay focused — Neil could let valuable information go tonight, if Andrew played his hand right. He let Neil lead him along, up the stairs, past half-naked performers, lounges full of fully-clothed men and women enjoying the show. A woman in a fierce pantsuit leaned against the side of one miniature stage, her shirt partly unbuttoned, the stage lights making her dark skin and short dark hair seem to glow. She spotted Neil, giving him a smile and a nod, but her eyes lingered questioningly on Andrew.

Neil waved back before taking Andrew up the next flight of stairs. “Who was that?” Andrew asked, knowing it wasn’t his business but still curious.

“Oh, my friend Dan. Usually she watches me sing, but tonight she has her own show, and I couldn’t ask her to come. It wouldn’t be right.” Neil said, as though that would be obvious to anyone.

The next floor was populated by glossy roulette tables and slot machines, full of cigar smoke haze like mist off the bay. Neil nodded to a few more men and women as he passed. Did he know how popular he was? Was he showing off for Andrew’s sake? Or was he just that friendly? The fourth floor of The Castle boasted the largest stage of all, yet another bar, more dance floor, windows that vaulted from floor to ceiling on the wall facing the harbor. Currently, another group was performing, several brass players and a pianist. Neil went for the bar, ordering yet another ice water. “Can I get you something too?” He looked expectantly at Andrew, like he was praying for a yes.

“I wouldn’t mind. I’d like to mix it up a little though, whiskey would be good.” With as much dignity as he could, Andrew hopped onto one of the tall bar stools, reluctantly letting Neil’s hand go. Now his palm felt empty. A little cold.

Neil obliged Andrew, adding a whiskey to his tab and sliding onto the stool beside him. “I go backstage in about fifteen minutes. But until then I’ll sit here with you. So… what’s your impression? Am I right in guessing you’ve never been here before?”

Andrew took a couple of sips, enjoying the stimulation of the alcohol burning in his throat. “It’s true, I haven’t. I’ll hand it to Moriyama, I am impressed. This place is real luxury. And it doesn’t seem like anyone is having a bad night, either.”

“Yeah, it’s just that kind of place. Either you are having a good time, or you’re pretending so hard it doesn’t matter.” Neil shrugged. There was a fragility to his words. Andrew couldn’t help but notice the slight downturn of his lips.

“Why do you sing in places like Eden’s. If you have a gig here?” Andrew asked. “It doesn’t make sense to me. No offense. That place is a genuine shit hole, what do you get out of that? You’re too good for it.” Now why did he have to go and say that? Was he putting it on too thick? Andrew wanted to go back outside and jump into the harbor.

Neil laughed, startled. “Well, I’m flattered you think that but really I’m not that good, I just have friends here. But more realistically it’s because singing… I don’t know, takes me out of the moment? When I’m singing I could be anyone, anything, the music is all that matters. I take gigs in places like Eden’s because they let me believe I really am someone else. If that makes sense.”

It did. “Yeah, I understand that. Although you really are that good.” Andrew took another sip, turning on his stool to look Neil in the eyes. They were the same cold, handsome blue. Like cornflowers. “If I hear you devalue your talent one more fucking time, I swear Josten. So don’t. When I heard you sing in Eden’s, I could hardly believe it.” 

Now Neil was struggling not to smile, Andrew could tell that much. “I’ll do my best tonight then. Because I know you’ll be listening.” He turned back to watch the dance floor, taking the spotlight of his gaze away. “Could I bother you for a cigarette?”

Andrew took two more from the carton, lighting his own and then Neil’s. Instead of putting it to his lips, Neil simply held his, letting the smoke curl up around him. Andrew made a face, letting out a shallow drag. “Why?”

“Oh, I just like the smell. Reminds me of someone.” He smiled faintly, and Andrew felt the sudden urge to do any number of idiotic things involving that mouth.

The cigarette burned almost to the filter before Neil stuck it in a crystal ashtray on the bar counter. “Okay, I’m going backstage now.” He slid off the stool, smoothing down the front of his suit. “I’ll be on soon, stay where you are so I know where to look for you in the crowd.”

Andrew resisted the temptation to smash his glass on the floor. His insides, particularly his heart, were treating him mutinously. “Of course. You’ll know where I am.”

Maybe if he was drunk enough he wouldn’t feel so jumpy. So… whatever this was. As soon as Neil disappeared, Andrew ordered another whiskey. There was something about tonight that begged him to do any combination of god awful things. Hell, if Neil asked him to dance again he would probably say yes.

In no time, the stage grew dark, the dancers applauding the band as they cleared away, other musicians replacing them - a saxophone, a bass clarinet, a new pianist and a percussionist. Andrew waited for Neil and he was not disappointed - before long, the stage lights flashed on, illuminating auburn hair, the silver of a very-well tailored suit, a light blue pocket square, hands reaching out to clasp the microphone.

Polite applause, dancers changed hands. And Neil’s voice began to float over the crowd, the soft harmony of the piano pushing under each low note, blending them together. _There’s a saying old, says that love is blind_ , he hummed, _still we’re often told, seek and ye shall find_ , and Andrew no longer had to wonder why he was there in the club. He knew.

Whether the man onstage was a murderer or an accomplice, innocent as a lamb or something else entirely, Andrew was already attached. _I know I could, always be good_ , Neil sang, eyelids fluttering open, looking right at Andrew like a bullet fired in the world’s quickest game of Russian Roulette, _To one who’ll watch over me_.

Neil sang for the next half hour, but it felt like only a minute, time kaleidoscoping and slipping, three tumblers of whiskey bleeding into Andrew like ink into contact paper. His skin itched, somewhere deep under the surface, waves on the underside of sea ice. Every time Neil looked into the crowd his eyes found Andrew. Every time, it felt like a knife to the gut.

The stage went black again, more applause. Neil bowed out, the band from earlier re-taking their places. This time they struck up a less jazzy tune, one with a waltz beat. Slower than Andrew’s pulse, faster than he was expecting for this late hour. But then again, time was more of a suggestion than a rule in The Castle.

Neil had barely gotten back to the bar when Andrew hopped off his stool. “That was fucking fantastic, Josten. Don’t even think about denying it.”

“What can I say? I was… motivated.” Neil practically grinned. “I don’t want to leave yet. I know you weren’t so keen on it the other night, but I was just thinking. Do you want to try and dance a few songs with me? I could teach you, if you’re worried about that. Do you know how to tango?”

Well, what the fuck, he had nothing to lose at this point. “I still hate dancing, but I wouldn’t mind it with you.” Andrew glanced over to the dance floor. “I don’t know how to tango, but I would be okay with a lesson or two.”

“Are you alright with being the follower?” Neil held out his left hand, and in answer Andrew took it, their hands sliding back together. Carefully, Neil moved Andrew’s left hand to rest on his shoulder, placing his own free hand square in the middle of Andrew’s back.

They were close, the limited space between them charged. “Okay, the first thing you have to learn is finding our weight,” Neil narrated, his eyes jumping around the room as he led Andrew onto the floor, “just like this.” he swayed back and forth, somehow guiding Andrew’s motions with the hand against his back. “Can you feel my center of gravity at all?”

Oddly, the answer was yes. There was some nebulous weight between them, a focal point hovering at chest level. Andrew nodded. “I think so. What next?”

“So the way tango works, we always have to start off walking in parallel. Like, if I move my left foot forward, you move your right foot back, and we just walk like that. But don’t look down, it’ll make it less smooth. We can try when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now.” Andrew said, feeling the hand on his back shift again. Their combined center of gravity floated ever so slightly to Andrew’s left, and forcing himself not to look down, he took a step backwards. It wasn’t hard to walk, he found, but it was hard not to glance over his shoulder, not to check where he was going or what was behind him. He was forced to trust Neil. And Neil led him well. Not once did Andrew feel anything against his back but Neil’s guiding hand.

Neil turned them slowly, rocking them in a circle until they could head back across the floor the way they came. “How is it? Are you getting the hang of this?”

“Surprisingly yes. You’re a good teacher, Josten.” It surprised even him, but he was enjoying this. Being led meant that a certain agency was removed from his side of the dance, but he supposed it did take two to tango after all. He didn’t feel out of control. Neil wasn’t pushing or pulling him, merely suggesting to him where to step. “You can show me more, if you want.”

Andrew could tell Neil was definitely somewhat red under his make-up, especially being this close to him. “Okay, okay, so I think I can walk you through a somewhat more challenging sequence. I’m gonna take a couple more steps, and then take one towards the wall, sideways, so when you follow me I’ll stick my right foot in between yours. Does that make sense?”

It half made sense. He was just going to have to let Neil guide him. “Go ahead, I’m ready.” Neil was clearly attuned to the beat of the song, his steps measured, one two three until he stopped, moving to the left, and Andrew followed. Even though Neil told him he was going to do it, it was still a bit surprising that he could not move his feet back together fully, Neil’s shoe suddenly stuck between them. 

“Good, okay, now move your left leg backwards?” As Andrew did, Neil brought his other leg forward, alongside Andrew’s, before taking a step back himself. “And now you can step over my leg and we’ll do a turn.”

Carefully, not wanting to kick Neil, Andrew slid his leg over. When Andrew had moved fully across, Neil shifted his hand once again on his back, leading him to spin almost backwards until they were facing the direction they had before. Giving Andrew a second or two to adjust, Neil began to walk again. “Hey, that was great, almost perfect honestly.”

It felt almost perfect, to move like that with him. Andrew had only half known what he was doing, but maybe that wasn’t so terrible. “It’s all you, Josten, seriously. Where did you learn how to dance this way? You’re damn good.”

Neil laughed, slightly crooked teeth flashing. “Can’t a man have a few secrets?”

“Fair enough.” And then all too soon the song was over, and Neil had Andrew’s arm, walking him back to the bar. It was almost one in the morning.

“So,” Neil yawned, looking towards the stairs, “I think I’m getting a little worn out. If it’s okay with you Minyard I’m going to call it a night. Ready to get out of here?”

Was Neil asking to leave on his own terms? Or was he asking Andrew to come? Feeling about twelve years old, Andrew nervously lit a cigarette, taking a hasty drag to calm himself. “I’m ready to start heading home too. Walk me out of here?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Neil offered his hand again, and his heartbeat was fast in his wrist. Together they walked out the way they had come, an Orpheus with a Eurydice he could turn and look at. Andrew worked over words on his tongue. Maybe he hadn’t been clear enough. He wanted to see Neil in the passenger seat of the Victoria, effective immediately. He wanted to stand on the roof of the club and scream as loud as he could. This was hellish and it was everything he needed.

The cold black of the night air scraped against Andrew’s lungs as Neil led him back onto the wharf. “Alright well… I had a really good night.” Neil said as he looked out over the water, which was gleaming oddly and reflecting the still-falling snow. “I’m going to call again. If you want me to.”

Andrew still didn’t know what to say. Was he going to invite Neil back to the Tower? Should he? If Neil really was dangerous, there could be more at risk than a one-night stand. Neil might get a leg up over Andrew, dig into Andrew’s life in a way he was not prepared for. In the eventuality that Neil was his real enemy, it would be best for him to know as little about Andrew’s life as a private eye as possible. And yet. “I want you to. If you don’t…”

Neil lifted Andrew’s hand almost to his mouth, and there was a question in his infuriatingly pretty eyes, so Andrew answered it without thinking, lifting his hand so the back pressed into Neil’s lips. “Then I will. Count on it,” Neil said, just the slightest bit breathless as he lifted his head back up. “Goodnight, Minyard.”

Neil was already walking away before Andrew could think cognizantly about anything that had just taken place. How stupid, how overly fucking romantic. His heart was going to pop like a balloon squeezed by a toddler. He was going to throw up. The back of his hand tingled where Neil had kissed it. Unable to do anything else viable, Andrew kicked a clump of snow into the harbor as hard as he could, watching the splash, the radius of waves against the wooden pylons. 

His breath came in steaming plumes like smog off a power plant. Forgotten in his right hand, his cigarette burned down without his mouth to help it along. For a moment he considered chasing after Neil Josten, letting him kiss his lips instead of the back of his hand like a fucking prince or something, but he abandoned the thought as soon as it came. Too much too fast. 

Andrew threw the cigarette butt into the water too, and he imagined he could hear the hiss of the flame going out. Renee would be home by now. He got back into the Victoria and tried not to think about the tattoo that must stain the back of his hand, the remnant of Neil’s mouth like an afterimage from staring directly at the sun.


	5. Crazy He Calls Me

March 19th, 1933  
Twelve minutes past One in the Afternoon  
Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston, Independence

Andrew, Renee and Allison had been in the office, having a light lunch, when Aaron called. He didn’t say what exactly was so urgent, but Andrew could tell from the tightness in his voice that something was wrong. “Andrew, get over here. I think I have a lead for you,” He said, before hanging up. So Andrew dragged Renee down to the Victoria, Allison tagging along since she was not about to let an afternoon with her girl go to waste.

It was hot today, disturbingly so. All the snowfall had melted away as soon as the sun rose and the scorching wind had kicked up. The moment he stepped out of the car, Andrew began to hate the sleeves of his shirt, hate that he needed them pulled down to his wrists, because he was already sweating. Renee and Allison were much more fittingly dressed, Renee in a short-sleeved polo and slacks, Allison in a sleek black and gold dress, which fell to her mid-thigh. 

Andrew slammed the car door behind him, feeling damp circles seep into the fabric of his shirt. “Inside. Before I melt,” He muttered, already starting towards the doors. 

There was a bad smell in the air, and Allison wrinkled her nose as they walked. “What is that?” She looked around quickly, covering the lower half of her face with one hand. “Is that the river?”

It probably was, at least partly, the scent of hot, sluggish muck and salt brine from the bay crawling up and settling over the city. But there was something beneath that, something rawer, fresher. Andrew knew it too well. The only question was whether he should announce that he smelled rotting flesh or keep it a secret until they stumbled on the source.

Secret it was. It was cooler in the emergency room, small metal fans whirring in empty chairs. Aaron was already waiting for them, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “Andrew. And friends.” He sighed. “I think the Fleet Foxes ought to see this. It’s definitely a homicide.”

“How could you know that?” Renee asked as they followed along behind Aaron, who led them into a much colder hallway, then down a flight of stairs that smelled like rubbing alcohol.

“It’s pretty clear. To me, anyway.” The brass plate over the next set of doors bleakly announced ‘Morgue,’ and Aaron did not wait to hold the door for Andrew, slipping through beneath the forbidding plaque. Andrew followed, breathing in a much different set of chemicals than he was used to. It was ice cold, and now his sweat was uncomfortable, slithering down his chest like ghost fingers.

Aaron crossed the spotless white floor, touched a pristine sheet that served as a curtain. “Are you ready to see? I cleaned some of it up, but really it’s not much better than before, and I didn’t want to disturb any evidence.” The smell of rotting was close again, pressing just behind the curtain, as foul as it had been outside. 

Andrew cast a look at Allison and Renee. Renee was unperturbed, Allison picking at something under one nail. “What?” Allison frowned. “This isn’t our first rodeo. Or even like, our tenth.”

That was true. Andrew nodded, moving through the curtain, coming face to face with the barely recognizable body of a young woman. He had to look at this like a thing, not a person. If he stayed removed, the reality could not touch him, would not sink teeth of emotion into him. The face was split apart, peeled like a fruit, bare dry muscle and yellow pits of fat congealed into a mask. What clothes she had been wearing were torn to red scraps, her ribs forced outward like a mouth full of fangs, Half of one leg was missing entirely, and the other was broken so badly it looked like it had been run over by a train. It smelled raw from the heat, and the unbroken eggs of blowflies still clung to the exposed crimson of clotted wounds. This body wasn’t old, perhaps only a few days past death. “She was left just outside the hospital. We found her a few hours ago, but the sun had already gotten to her.” Aaron explained, shaking his head.

Damningly, a shining meat cleaver the size of Andrew’s forearm stuck up from the corpse’s ruined skull, matted with hair and blood. Andrew stared for a moment longer before breaking the silence. “This is my fault.” He said, looking down at the remains of a red sundress that he had seen move like a flag in the wind just Wednesday morning.

It was Monday. The girl had slipped him a hint, and then in the space of four days she died.

Renee had noticed too, shaking her head at the cleaver. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t kill her, how could it have been your fault? It’s him, he did this, not you.”

“Him?” Aaron stared, accusingly, at the three of them. “How do you know who did this?”

“It’s Andrew’s man,” Allison sighed, getting a bit closer to examine the body, “Neil Joshen? Jorstin?”

“Josten.” Andrew muttered. “It’s Josten. And he isn’t my man, you know it’s complicated.”

Aaron’s mouth was wide enough to drive a steam engine through, his eyes narrowed to slits. “When were any of you going to fill me in about… any of this? Andrew? Do you care to explain?” He asked, voice icy.

“I think we can and should explain. But not in here.” Renee sadly looked over the girl’s remains. “We can find a more respectful place to talk.” Quickly, Andrew made eye contact with her. Neither Allison nor Aaron could know about their plan. He would have to play this straight, make them believe he really had somehow fallen for Neil.

Would that even be so hard? Most of him was disgusted, by both murders, by the idea of being on the arm of a mafia man in the first place. And yet how was he supposed to explain the stutter in his heartbeat when Allison had called Neil ‘his man’?

So when the curtain fell again between them and the girl, Andrew looked between Allison and Aaron, weighing his words. He wished he could smoke in here, but Aaron would probably find a way to stop him. “So the other night I met this man, Neil Josten. He was singing at Eden’s and honestly, it took me off guard. He was so talented. And then later I ran into him at The Backward Pawn, and you can probably guess what happened from there.”

Allison laughed. “Andrew actually left the office last week to go out with him. But wait, there’s more, you’re gonna love this part Aaron.”

“Well…” Andrew let out a long sigh, really trying to milk it, knowing he was a terrible liar. “We were working on a case at the same time, another murder, similar to this one. This girl gave us a clue about someone called The Butcher, and told us some things that heavily implicated Neil. I don’t think he’s the killer, but I know he is involved. But at this point I think I’m too attached to stop seeing him. Who cares if he didn’t do it, right? He couldn’t choose his family. And I can’t choose to… turn off my feelings for him.” He hoped Aaron didn’t see through the obviously fabricated parts of what he said. Unfortunate, though, that there were grains of truth to it.

Aaron shook his head. “You are kidding me, right? Is this a really shitty joke? Because if it isn’t, this is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. I knew you were fucked up about a lot of things, Andrew, but this is just too much. If he doesn’t kill you first, I’m going to. What the fuck possessed you? Can you answer me that?”

Renee let her hand hover over Andrew’s shoulder. “Give him a break, Aaron. He can make his own decisions, he’s an adult. I think he can choose what’s good for him. I’ve met Neil, he seems decent enough, even if he has a lot to hide.”

“That’s just it. The Butcher is one of the King’s Men.” Aaron stared coldly at Andrew, judging him so fiercely he felt as though his soul were being weighed on a scale. “He’s something of an enigma, but I’ve heard he has a son. You are literally flirting with death. And you know what, if that’s your choice, so fucking be it Andrew.”

For a split second, Andrew felt just the slightest bit bad. This was his brother he was lying to. Allison enjoyed something about the drama of it all, he didn’t feel bad about deceiving her, but here was his twin, who, in his own way, cared about Andrew deeply as only someone who shared a womb with him could. Yet this was the right decision. If he was going to catch up with The Butcher at all, who better to get information from than Neil, his heir apparent? “Then so fucking be it.” Andrew said, only mocking Aaron a little. “I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

Aaron reached into the deep pocket of his lab coat, shoving an envelope into Andrew’s hands. “This is the girl’s autopsy. If you even give a shit. See you Wednesday, if you’re still alive.” With that, Aaron turned and slipped back through the curtain, leaving Andrew, Renee and Allison to see themselves out.

As they stepped back into the scorching midday sunlight, Allison hung back slightly. “Andrew, on one hand this is very interesting. But on the other, Aaron is right, it’s sorta fucked. Are you sure you like him enough to put your life on the line like this? I know a thing or two about men who aren’t worth your time. Or all your effort. Or any of the various sacrifices you try to make for them. You get me?”

Andrew shrugged, finally digging a cigarette from his pants pocket after what felt like forever in the hyper-sanitized hospital. “There’s a lot more to Neil than meets the eye. And what meets the eye is pretty damn attractive.”

“Big words coming from the guy who wouldn’t even try talking to him in The Backward Pawn without Renee’s help.” Allison teased.

“Can’t I enjoy one goddamn thing? I don’t tell him anything about my job. He hasn’t told me anything about his family. I think it’s that simple, we don’t need to bring that shit into… whatever we are.” But he would have to, eventually, if he was going to bring The Butcher down.

The line between business and pleasure was drawn in the sand, and it felt like the tide was about to rise.

Allison snorted, shaking her head, blond hair catching the sunlight like spun gold. “Yeah, okay Andrew. You know where to find me if this ends up biting you in the ass.”


	6. These Foolish Things

March 22nd, 1933  
Eight thirty-four in the morning  
The Tower, Boston, Independence

After a rare night of good sleep, Andrew rolled over in bed the moment the morning sun found a crack through his blinds to infiltrate his room. For the first time in weeks, he felt somewhat rested. It wasn’t a chore to open his eyes or sit up in bed. Not for the first time, he looked over his body, quietly contemplating the scars he hated and the ones he earned. These days it was easier for him to go to bed shirtless. Wanting to at least attempt to focus on the positive, he bypassed the scars from fights, both with himself and others, gently going over the red lines marking his chest.

They weren’t so sensitive anymore. Their red color had faded over time, from crimson to mauve. From a distance, it would be possible to imagine they were simply the lines of muscle where his pectorals connected to the rest of his chest, not the places where Aaron had torn him apart and healed him.

Rolling out of bed, Andrew stretched, his shoulders cracking. His bedroom was on the smaller side, cluttered with unwashed clothes, empty bottles and various mementos he conveniently kept forgetting to throw away. He needed a shower, maybe a shave; as fine as his facial hair was, if he didn’t keep up with shaving it, it would eventually turn into a rough five o’clock shadow. Kicking aside trash and discarded cigarette cartons, he grabbed the cleanest pair of slacks he could find, a plain white button down, suspenders, and the thin black armbands he wore beneath his clothes, along with the various knives that would sheathe into them.

Renee was probably on floor ten, in Allison’s apartment. Andrew didn’t have to worry about waking anyone up. Stepping out into the short hallway, he dumped his clothes through the open bathroom door and onto the counter before heading down to the parlor. The room was home to various threadbare couches and, in the corner, a phonograph surrounded by cluttered piles of records. Andrew hunted through them until he found the one he wanted: Clair De Lune, orchestral recording.

He let the needle fall onto the rim of the record, soft scratching sounds crawling up through the horn until the first static-softened notes furled out into the room. Like ferns opening in the dawn mist. He had always liked this song. Now any music with words made him think of Neil, made him wonder what they would sound like in his voice. This was much more peaceful.

Returning to the bathroom, a miniscule tiled room featuring a shower stall, a cracked toilet, a sink and a mirror, Andrew left the door open a crack so the music could seep through. He shucked off his slept-in briefs, tossing them to the floor and stepping into the shower stall. The water took a minute or two in coming, gurgling someplace deep in the pipe before hissing to the nozzle, drenching Andrew and plastering his curls to his head in seconds. There had been a time just after the Crash where there had been no running water. Even if the families controlling the city were corrupt, at least they brought showers back, and Andrew was thankful for that.

He stood in the hot water, letting it thoroughly soak him, imagining he could feel dead skin peeling away and flowing down the drain. He closed his eyes, let it happen. The sound of the phonograph combined with the tapping of the water on the clouded glass stall put him at ease. He didn’t remember what he had planned for today. Renee would remind him.

Neil still hadn’t called him again. Andrew was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t good enough to warrant a second date. If the first time even was a date. He didn’t like Neil quite as much as he insisted to Aaron and Allison, but Neil was an attractive man his age he felt mostly safe around, and if that wasn’t special then Andrew didn’t know what was.

The music crescendoed, echoing off the tiles. Andrew felt present. Distinctly and absolutely rooted inside his body. He found that he wanted Neil to call him again, wanted to see him. To unravel more of the mystery he posed. To let Neil kiss more than the back of his hand.

A brief shiver passed through Andrew, and the water coursing over him was suddenly invisible hands touching his bare skin. For once, he wanted them there. Now the hands were slender, bandaged at the knuckle, one heavy with gold. Andrew let out a slow breath through his nose. Without even opening his eyes he knew he was hard. His cock, small though it was, was suddenly sensitive to every drop, every stream of water.

Normally he wouldn’t play into this feeling. In fact, the last time he jacked off had been absently, with one hand, at his desk in his office. The general rule was the faster he got it over with, the better. It was less about the pleasure, and more about the relief, the freedom to stop thinking about his dick and get back to focusing on whatever else he was doing.

Should he? It was still early. He didn’t want to rush himself this time. Not to mention, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Neil anyway. Even if the man never called him back, at least he could imagine he did, imagine him here in this shower, allowing Andrew to touch him.

Keeping his eyes closed, Andrew leaned against the tile wall, letting one hand wander vaguely downwards. This was fine. His breath wasn’t stalling, he was in control of his own body and that was okay. Picturing Neil’s hand there instead of his own, he gently stroked himself, slight waves of heat pulsing over his upper thighs.

How would Neil look? Andrew couldn’t flesh out the image, but he knew Neil would be handsome as ever. Even on his knees, even taking Andrew in his mouth. No one could hear Andrew’s low moan except for himself, the music and the drip of the shower drowning him out to the rest of the world. It was hard to keep his legs from shaking.

If Neil was here in the shower now, the water would turn his auburn hair dark, press it against the back of his neck. Andrew pictured him kneeling, his soft lips working gently on Andrew’s cock, perhaps even a moan or two of his own sneaking out.

Andrew came much too fast, sinking his teeth into his lower lip to keep any more sounds trapped inside, shoulder sliding down against the tile wall as he tried to keep his balance. Well, he’d done it, he considered in a somewhat triumphant way, once he could think around the pleasure. He had jacked off to Neil Josten. Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

He washed his hair, finished his shower, and shaved in the steam-obscured mirror. The record had stopped playing while he was still in the shower, and now the apartment was quiet again.

Getting dressed at last, Andrew combed his hair and made himself a healthy breakfast of black coffee, one egg, toast, and three cigarettes. It was only around nine thirty, at least according to his watch. He ought to go upstairs to the office. If Renee wasn’t already there, she would be soon, and there was work to be done. 

Instead of going right to the office, Andrew took the elevator to the roof. It wasn’t a hot day, but it wasn’t cold either. The sun was a pale yellow disc, hovering over the bay, and the water looked almost like laundry runoff, grey and foaming. Andrew crossed the barren gravel rooftop, situating himself on the very edge of the roof, pulling one leg to his chest and letting the other dangle in the wind.

He was afraid of falling. As he looked over the morning bright canyons of the city, steam billowing from chimneys, a train passing on the horizon, cars moving below like toys, his gut lurched with apprehension. His heart leapt, pounding. Yet he did not move, letting the wind tousle his damp hair, swinging his leg against the side of the building.

Andrew felt alive, if only for a moment, when the incredible height rose up to grab and squeeze his heart. He lit his fourth cigarette of the morning, letting the smoke float out over the void. Somewhere, gunshots rang out. Seagulls wheeled and cried in a gyre, white against blue against the grey of the harbor.

Neil was out there, down in the city. This was his morning too. Andrew smoked his cigarette down to the filter before tossing the butt over the edge of the roof, watching the speck disappear into the blacktop below.

From the open window of his office, one floor below, Andrew could hear the phone on his desk begin to ring. Then Renee’s voice. “Andrew, hey, come get this! It’s probably for you!”

Andrew practically scrambled back to the elevator. Could it be him? There was only one way to find out.

By the time he reached the office, Renee was grinning, holding out the receiver. “Mister Josten on the line for you, Andrew.” She said, her smile widening.

Wordlessly, Andrew snatched the phone. “Josten?”

“Good morning to you too.” Neil replied on the other end, and Andrew imagined he could hear a smile in his voice. “Listen, do you have anything to do tonight? I have to go to a banquet, and I think I need a date.”


	7. The Way You Look Tonight

March 22nd 1933  
Seven thirty-five in the evening  
North End, Boston, Independence

The banquet, it turned out, was a Moriyama family event held at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It had once been a private college, but had become the Moriyamas’ way of keeping promising scientists and engineers in their pocket. Andrew had been there several times before the Crash, playing against their football team during his Freshman year, but since they didn’t have a rival team to speak of now, let alone a faculty or proper student body, he hadn’t had a reason to since.

Well, now he did. Andrew stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, shaking his head. “I don’t think this is right. I feel too goddamn fancy. Why do I need a tie pin?”

Renee, standing beside him, smoothed the shoulders of his navy blue suit once more before giving him a genuine smile. “Stop belittling yourself, it’s just fancy enough. And you need a tie pin to keep your tie from moving, but also because it looks good. We want you to be classy. What’s the point of being a honeypot if you’re not really seducing him?”

Andrew didn’t particularly feel like responding, but he knew she was at least partly right. “Hmph. Well what about my hair? I look… drowned.”

“Oh come on, I put maybe one little scoop of wax in it. You look fine. Stop touching,” she admonished, catching Andrew moving one hand up to touch his hair, which was slicked firmly back. “If I was Neil, I would be going crazy for that style. Do you not trust me?”

“No, no I trust you.” Andrew muttered.

“Good. Now I think it’s time for you to leave.” Renee left the bathroom, hurrying to the apartment door. “I know I don’t have to remind you, but it will make me feel better just to say it. Clearly someone over there is already onto us. They saw enough to go after that girl. Just be careful, Andrew. Fleet Foxes is… it’s both of us. So come back in one piece, alright?”

Andrew stopped at the elevator, absorbing her words while he waited for the cage to pull itself up. “Of course.” He finally settled on saying. “I’ll be more careful than I’ve ever been.” Untrue. Andrew had never actually been careful with himself once in his life. But he cared enough about Renee to lie to her. He would do what he had to.

She laughed, crossing her arms. “I swear Andrew. Someday you’ll get better at lying. At least I know you give a damn. I’ll be in the office all night, so you know where to find me. Good luck.”

With that, Andrew gave her a rare smile of his own, stepping into the elevator as it arrived. “I’ll try to be back at a normal time. Thanks for the luck. I hope I don’t need it.”

This time he would have to drive a lot further away, looping around through Back Bay to take the Harvard Bridge over the Charles River. It was a long detour, but the Harvard Bridge was the only one he trusted these days, and it would take him almost where he needed to be. The sun had just barely set when Andrew got onto the road, the sky a deep and clear periwinkle. It was clear and cool, the noxious wind and swampy clouds gone away for the moment. As he drove Andrew felt nerves thrumming under his skin, but he was too focused on the task ahead to light a cigarette and calm himself. He needed to be on edge for this.

What would it be like, to sit under the noses of the real elites? Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama would certainly be there, along with Tetsuji and Ichirou Moriyama and the other King’s Men. Andrew had his knives, as always, but no gun. He was bringing a blade to a gunfight, should one break out.

The lights along the Harvard Bridge were lit tonight, perfect yellow orbs like spirits in a graveyard, and Andrew let them dazzle him as he slammed on the gas. The Victoria flew onto the bridge, and Renee was not here to stop Andrew from letting the speedometer climb to 90, 95, 100 miles per hour. There was no one else on the road, and Andrew wanted to feed his nerves, to feel alive, a one-man wild hunt. There was a spirit fire in his veins. If he opened the window, let his hair be tossed and the wax ruined, maybe his consciousness would finally come back home to roost in his bones where it belonged.

The window stayed closed and as the buildings closed back in around him on the other side of the brown water, Andrew brought the car back to a reasonable speed. This wasn’t the night to dick around, teasing his own mortality. Unless, of course, he did it by walking into a Moriyama family banquet. Now he drove along a wide boulevard, the skyline of Boston behind him. Approaching him was the broad pale back of the Great Dome. It was a massive building, edeficed by centurion Greek columns, marble steps in a swooping apron. A group of valets at the curb waited to take the cars of the wealthy and stash them someplace safe. 

Andrew did not feel like letting anyone else, not Renee, not a valet he didn’t know, drive his Victoria. Avoiding the curb purposefully, he simply followed one valet around the building to a sheltered parking garage, parking the Victoria as close to the exit as he could manage. Crisis averted. Neil had told Andrew to meet him on Killian Court, which was situated comfortably behind the dome. Andrew could put off going inside for now, and he walked quickly around the building’s girth onto a sprawling green lawn, dotted with ink blot groups of Moriyamas and their friends, dressed all in black. Long rows of tables set with hors d'oeuvres already lined the green. A string quartet hovered near the back entrance to the dome, and a few very well-dressed men and women had already started up a game of croquet.

Maybe Andrew was not overdressed after all. He hovered near a table of refreshments, searching the crowd of black suits and gowns for that familiar head of auburn hair.

He was picking half-heartedly at a tray of miniature eclairs when an incredibly tall, broad-shouldered man appeared at his side. The man wore an impeccable dark grey pinstriped suit, and his coarse brown hair was styled to an impressive degree. His hands, too, were large, with lighter marks criss-crossing the backs of his knuckles. These were hands that had seen a fight. Upon noticing Andrew, the man burst into a grin — the only genuine facial expression Andrew had seen since arriving. “Hey, you wouldn’t be Andrew Minyard, would you?”

Andrew paused. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Matthew Boyd, but you can just call me Matt. I’m a friend of Neil’s. He told me you would be here!” He gave that earnest smile again, one of his hands extended for a shake. Andrew wrestled with the idea of leaving him hanging before reluctantly going in to complete the handshake. It was just a bit demoralizing to watch his hand be swallowed up by Matt’s.

“Right. So Neil.” Andrew said, once he had his hand back. “Where is he? He said he would meet me back here.”

Matt winced. “He’s stuck with Day and Moriyama for right now. He has a table reserved inside though, we could go there to wait for him if that’s what you want to do.”

Did Andrew want to trust this complete stranger just because he had a good gut feeling about him? Aside from his stature, Matt seemed to be relatively safe. He wasn’t even wearing black. For all Andrew knew, he could be somebody else’s plus one. He shrugged. “Why not? I think I could sit, especially if he’s going to take a while.”

Matt nodded, taking a small plate of grapes before starting towards the gleaming glass doors of the dome. “Do you want a cigarette? I don’t smoke, but I carry a pack out of courtesy, and Neil tells me you’re a big smoker.”

“Yeah, I’ll take one.” Andrew frowned. “What else has he told you about me?”

“Only good things, seriously!” Matt handed him a cigarette from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Don’t worry, just between us… Neil is very excited to have you as his date tonight.”

“He told you I was his date?” Andrew asked, feeling very stupid. Sure, it was true, but it was somehow still baffling that other people should know.

Matt laughed, opening one door for Andrew. “Oh boy, he was right about you…”

Before Andrew could shake him down for any more information, a familiar woman strode out of the sea of linen tablecloths filling the space under the dome, her heels snapping on the polished granite floors. She wore a dark blue suit, pinstripe to match Matt’s, and as she placed her hand on his arm Andrew knew where he recognized her from. This was the woman Neil had waved at in The Castle the other night, Dan. 

She seemed to size Andrew up, from the soles of his shoes to his wax-flattened hair. “So, this is the Mister Minyard we’ve been hearing so much about lately. Dan Wilds.” She extended a hand to Andrew, and her handshake was even firmer than Matt’s.

Andrew was not regularly intimidated, but standing next to Dan and Matt he felt just an ounce of wariness come over him. “It’s nice to meet you.” He managed, unsure what to say. It was also rare that he attended an event he was actually expected to be social at. In any other circumstances he would already be at the bar or in a corner, hoping to be left alone. What was he supposed to talk about?

It didn’t quite matter, because at that moment Neil slipped in through the glass doors, hurrying over to the small gathering. “Minyard, hey, I’m sorry I got caught up with Kevin and Riko and that always takes forever.” He sighed, and there was an element of exhaustion that flickered briefly in his expression before disappearing.

Andrew nudged Neil’s hand, posing a silent question. “Nothing to forgive. Besides, I got to meet your friends.” He replied, and he was reasonably sure everyone in the room noticed Neil slipping his hand into Andrew’s, intertwining their fingers.

“We should get back to our table, I’m pretty sure they’re bringing out the first course soon.” Matt suggested, quickly checking his watch. “You know how punctual these Moriyamas can be. It’s all about the formation or elegance… or something.”

Neil nodded, and Andrew took a moment to absorb the tailoring of his suit. It was Moriyama black and double-breasted, with gold buttons lining the chest. It fit him excellently. Andrew wondered what it would feel like to take it off him, meticulously sliding each button from its hole, anticipation mounting. But he was getting ahead of himself. “Sure, I’m getting pretty hungry myself. And we can all get to know each other better, too.” Neil said, a hint of cheerfulness in his voice. Surely Neil could sense Andrew’s lack of charisma by this point, right? Just because he’d gotten the hang of talking to Neil did not mean he was a professional at small talk. Regardless, he went along with Neil to a table on the outer circle of the rotunda, near the curve of the wall.

Andrew sat down quietly, his anxiety mounting. Meanwhile, when Matt and Dan sat across from him, it gave him the feeling he was having dinner with Neil’s parents. Right on cue, Dan asked “So Andrew, what is it you do again?”

“I’m a private investigator. Mostly I take care of little things though, like runaway kids and theft.” Andrew replied, wanting to make it absolutely clear that he didn’t investigate things like say, murder. 

“Oh, I see. It sounds interesting at least.” Dan nodded, lightly touching Matt’s hand. “Matt is a boxer, but sometimes he does late night radio.”

Andrew didn’t have any hobbies that were quite so flashy. He was letting Neil down, in front of these people who were clearly judging him. He had to think of something interesting about himself, and quickly. “Boxing? That’s a pretty tough sport. I used to play football, back when college existed.” Fuck, that was boring. So boring. Except for the fact that he wasn’t supposed to have been playing at all, but he couldn’t out himself like that.

Matt grinned, clearly the more easy-going of the pair. “Football, huh? So many rules. It’s a lot more about teamwork than boxing, that’s for sure. Anything else you like to do?”

“You don’t have to cross examine him, you guys,” Neil interrupted. “ Can’t you just take my word for him?”

Dan and Matt shared a look. Andrew wanted to melt into his seat and drip away onto the floor so he didn’t have to be part of this conversation. Were they trying to vet him? 

“Right.” Dan said. “Okay. If you say so.” She looked admonished, but the rebuke from Neil was enough for her to steer the conversation back away from Andrew. “Anyway, I usually play saxophone at The Castle, but I do take on other odd jobs. Ones that might require more brute strength, quick thinking.”

Andrew couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped him. “Are you a…”

“Hit woman? No, I wouldn’t dream of engaging in such a dangerous profession.” Dan replied, too blasé to be telling the truth.

Neil gently tapped the side of Andrew’s hand with one finger. “Hey, the music is changing, do you want to go dance?” He asked quickly, tilting his head towards the cleared out floor at the center of the rotunda.

On one level, Andrew appreciated that Neil picked up on his discomfort. On another, he wasn’t even a little bit drunk, and his confidence in remembering the steps Neil taught him last time was low. But still, he did want to get off this witness stand. “Sure, that would be fine.” He sighed, standing up. “I can’t promise you I’ll be any better than last time.”

“Then I’ll just show you everything again,” Neil replied, and as he pulled Andrew to the floor the band changed out, violins trading with guitars, four-four tempo changing to a waltz. Once they were out of earshot of the table Neil gave Andrew an apologetic smile. “They didn’t say anything weird to you before I got here, right? They’re really protective of me, but they definitely don’t have to be.”

“Before I answer that, what have you told them about me?” Andrew said, the words slipping bluntly like stones from his mouth.

“That you were an interesting man and I wanted to get to know you better, and that I always seem to have a good time when I see you?” Neil answered, and although his words felt like truth, Andrew could feel a dishonesty somewhere, in Neil’s eyes, the corner of his lips. 

It didn’t matter. He was here with Neil, and if Neil wanted to imagine something away, Andrew could be complicit in that. For now. “Okay. And no, they didn’t say anything too strange. I just felt like I was getting interviewed. By your parents who are also your bosses.”

Wincing, Neil guided Andrew’s hands back into the proper embrace. “Fuck. I knew they would do something like that. They’ll get used to you eventually, I promise.”

‘Eventually,’ he had said. Like Andrew was a factor he was planning on keeping in his life long enough for there to be an eventually.

Andrew simply nodded, trying not to feel any way in particular about that idea. “Now that we’ve settled that, aren’t you the leader? Lead me.”

Neil did, swaying slightly for a few beats to get a feel for the song’s rhythm before starting forwards. It took a moment for Andrew’s muscle memory to cooperate with him but he found his own rhythm soon enough, steps matching with Neil’s in mirrored synchrony. Neil guided Andrew through shifting clumps of dancers, Moriyamas and King’s Men alike, using the hand on his back to pull him away from collisions, deftly turn him out of tight corners. 

Although Andrew could only manage the most basic sequences, without looking down he could feel in the way the embrace shifted that Neil was doing more, taking his own steps and embellishments that did not align perfectly with Andrew’s but rather, complimented them. Every other time Andrew had danced with a man, it felt stilted. He was always stepping on something, colliding, feeling trapped by the touch and grip of bare hands. With Neil, despite the fact that Andrew did not truly know how to tango, he felt like he was dancing.

“Ready for something else new? This time it’ll be a lot harder for you than it will be for me,” Neil suggested, slowing their movements into a rocking step, “But I think you’re getting the hang of this really fast, I don’t doubt you can do it.”

Was he ready for more? Andrew was almost perfectly sober, and he hadn’t regretted this yet. “Let’s do it. Tell me what I need to do.”

“Okay, I’m going to lead you into a cross, then a turn. For the first part just follow me, keep moving with my steps. So when I take one back you take one forward, when I go to the side you go to the side. Then I’m going to walk you backwards so you take two steps… but on the third one cross your left foot over your right and shift all your weight to the right.” Neil shifted his hand on Andrew’s back, and suddenly there was no greater evil than the suit keeping their skin from touching. “Ready? I’ll go slowly.”

Andrew bit the inside of his cheek, nodding. He just had to move with him, let the embrace tell him where to go. When Neil stepped back with his right, Andrew followed with his left. Then to the side, and syncopated, with the higher notes of the song, one, two, three steps back. Andrew barely remembered to cross his feet, almost losing his balance, but Neil steadied him just as quickly. “Now the turn,” Neil said, “I’m going to turn in a circle in place, and you walk around me until we face front again. See, like them.” He nodded his head towards a nearby couple.

To Andrew’s surprise, it was Kevin Day and a taller woman he did not recognize. She seemed to be leading him, taking wide steps into the cross, twisting on her heels so that Kevin took two steps toward, twisted two steps backward, moved again for two steps forward until they were back the way they had been before. The woman went on to perform the same sequence Neil had taught Andrew last time, only Day slid over her leg with a strange elegance, pausing to let the woman embellish the move by lifting one leg quickly and sharply between his.

“I think I get it.” Andrew said, and as he did he felt Neil’s hand lift on his back, guiding him slowly through the circle. By some miracle he didn’t trip over his own feet. Neil’s smile when he arrived back at the start of the circle revealed a sweet kind of pride and a crooked eyetooth.

An _eventually_ would be nice, wouldn’t it, Andrew thought as the song ended, Neil keeping their fingers laced together as they left the floor. The cold ring pressing into his hand was a reminder that there would not be one.

“Sorry, where’s the bathroom?” Andrew muttered, needing just a minute alone, to clear his head and get just a little more nicotine into himself. Stupid of him to be falling for his own honeypot. This whole thing was a stupid idea. And this party was overwhelming, everything luxury, Dan and Matt waiting back at the table to judge Andrew to their hearts’ content.

Neil pointed to a set of double oak doors across the rotunda. “There’s a long hallway through there. There should be a bathroom towards the end, before the staircase. I’ll be at the table. The first course will probably come out by the time you come back.”

Right, sure. “Thanks,” Andrew said quickly, before hurrying away to the doors. Once he could think clearly again he could come back, but until then he would be making his home in a bathroom stall. The hall beyond the doors was long, dim, and completely deserted. Locked doors stood like sentries on either side, some of their windows covered from the inside by black fabric.

Andrew reached the end of the hall. There was the bathroom, a black wooden door waiting quietly near the staircase, a slightly worn red oak handrail shooting up to the next floor. Another anxiety overtook Andrew, this one more familiar. The old idea that he would walk into the bathroom and be met with anger, that eye contact would betray him. Anything could happen to him in a public toilet, he knew that. His palms began to itch. He couldn’t go in there. Feeling as though his mind were floating, tethered, several feet above his body, Andrew kept walking, starting up the stairs instead.

He got to the next floor, pausing at the landing. Another hallway, almost exactly the same as the one below. Maybe coming to this party was a mistake. Somehow he didn’t think he’d be back in time for the first course. Andrew climbed half of the next set of stairs, sitting down in darkness on a dusty step. This was a good place, quiet, removed. He could come back to himself, however long that took.

Minutes passed. Andrew wasn’t sure how much time went down the drain before he heard the footsteps beneath him, voices accompanying them. Two men stepped onto the landing below him, and the world popped back into focus. Still in shadow, Andrew leaned against the railing of the staircase, trying to get a better look.

“My nephew is keeping as good an eye on your… child as he can, Nathan.” Said the taller of the pair, who held a silver-tipped cane. From the back, Andrew could see that he wore a black suit and his black hair was slicked back firmly against his skull, but nothing more.

The other man was dressed in white, which struck Andrew as bizarre; at a Moriyama party, he had heard it was a sign of rebellion to wear light colors. “Who said that he needed to?” He replied, his voice strangely accented. It sounded faintly southern… or was it something else? “Nathaniel is my heir. I don’t give two shits what else he does, he’s damn good at helping me in my work. I have him under control.”

“Clearly, you do not. For one thing, I cannot fathom why you let it act the way it does, dress the way it does,” the other man said, coldly, “You had a perfectly good daughter. I will never understand why you allowed this to happen. But in any case, Nathaniel, if I have to use that name, is a concern of mine. How many times have you lied when you told me it was under control? Was this time also a lie?”

The second man turned, angrily. He had a square face, blunt, but Andrew knew those blue eyes, the auburn hair. “My son is talented. He’s going through a little rebellion right now, we both know it, but he’s almost better at taking people apart than I am. He’s useful. And none of them were lies, he is under my control. Tetsuji, you cannot tell me what to do with my property.”

A frigid laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that was a threat. Riko will continue to watch it. Nathaniel. Whichever. I will not have my Butcher compromised by a smaller Butcher. Nathan Wesninski, you are demented, but I can see where I might put that to good use. I do not see a future with your… progeny. Not as things stand.”

Andrew’s mind scrambled to assemble the clues. What was he looking at? He held his breath as the men continued down the hall, now aware of just how high the stakes were if he was spotted. He had just seen Tetsuji Moriyama, and if he was correct, the Butcher himself. Who had they been talking about, if not Neil? Or was it Nathaniel?

The language Tetsuji had used to refer to Neil was familiar in that Andrew had been the target of similar words. Could he and Neil be the same?

But that wasn’t important compared to the fact that Neil wasn’t simply the Butcher’s son. He was an accomplice, ‘almost better at taking people apart’ than his father. Andrew gripped the stair he sat on so hard he was sure he would come away with splinters. He had felt it all along, in the pit of his stomach. Neil was a killer. No, not just that. The sick artwork of the murders went beyond the realm of killing. Who hadn’t at least thought about murder? These killings had been the passion project of someone who took pride in tearing people into the most unique shapes possible.

How much of it was his father, and how much was Neil himself? Andrew stood, his gut churning. He could not go back downstairs and he could not stay here either. When he was ready he could go back and see Neil, but regardless of the attraction between them, he had to keep using Neil for information. There could be no ‘eventually’ with Neil if he was truly so cold-blooded. But Andrew would have to see this through to the end.

So Andrew kept walking. Up the stairs, floor after floor. At last, a metal ladder set into one wall of the stairwell. Andrew pushed open the hatch at the top, clambering through and onto the lip of the dome itself. Immediately the incredible height caught Andrew’s breath in his lungs. He was not even on the dome properly, the hatch letting out into a shallow trench in the marble that ran around the dome’s circumference, but the way the smooth stone shot to the edge before leaving off in empty space was enough to send Andrew’s heartbeat racing. Not bothering to close the hatch, Andrew shuffled as close to the edge as he dared before sitting down and carefully lighting a cigarette.

He didn’t want to try to think about Neil any more. It made his head hurt. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. What if he and Neil really were the same? If nothing else, he had to know that. He couldn’t give away that he had learned anything else, but at the very least, sharing that connection meant something to him.

It was full dark now and the embers at the end of Andrew’s cigarette were as bright as a lighthouse beacon in the shadowed world of the roof. From here, he could see across the Charles river, to the Boston skyline, black buildings against black sky. The lights of the city were fantastic in the night, a handful of bright gems scooped down from space and littered among the streets. They glowed a faint amber, a more perfect set of constellations than the barely visible stars. Andrew stared at them, and beat by beat his heart slowed. His cigarette burned and burned until he could justify dropping it over the edge, the speck of light swallowed up by darkness as it fell. He entertained a fantasy where it landed on someone below and lit their clothes on fire. Now he was calm enough to go back. He hoped Neil was still waiting for him.

As Andrew stood, turning back towards the hatch, two bandaged hands found their way to the edge, lifting Neil into view. Neil smiled awkwardly, pulling himself a little further up. “Sorry if you didn’t want to be bothered. I got worried when you didn’t come back, and I wandered around for a while looking for you. And then I thought I saw someone smoking up on the roof, and I figured it was you. Should I leave you alone?”

“No,” Andrew replied, both relieved and angry. Relieved that Neil didn’t leave, angry at himself for feeling that way. “We can sit back down. The party was…”

“A lot to deal with? Don’t worry. I’m right there with you.” Neil sighed, and together they both sat back on the cold stone of the roof.

Now was as good a time to bring it up as ever. “Actually, I was wondering how to tell you something. About myself.” Andrew knew his lies were flimsy, but there was at least a kernel of truth to this one. “I’m not used to telling people about it, but since I think we’re going to spend more time together… I didn’t want it to be a surprise.”

Neil’s eyebrows lifted, but the rest of his face remained nearly expressionless, a paper mask for him to look through. “Are you sure? You don’t have to tell me.” He said, and there was no clear emotion Andrew could eke out in his voice. Not fear, not anticipation either. 

“No, I’m sure. Believe me, this is only one card I’m putting on the table.” Andrew replied, but even as he did he felt a tightness in his chest. He didn’t have to say this, a small voice in the front of his mind panicked. This could fuck him up so badly. What if he was wrong and Neil pushed him off the roof, or something similarly dramatic?

Neil sat, patiently, waiting for Andrew to keep going. But Andrew’s jaw was locking. Why was he doing this again? Because there was a chance, a slim chance he would be able to share his experience with someone like him? When had that ever gone well? He opened his mouth and closed it tightly again, grinding his teeth. He didn’t even have a proper word to describe himself. Was he supposed to talk about the trauma of growing up in a body that never felt like his, even when he was alone? The shock and fear and relief and terror that came with realizing he not only would prefer to live as a man, but that he needed to? There was no word that could hold that, and Andrew was not prepared to show Neil the deep cavities that he carried within himself every day.

But what if Neil shared the same pain, knew the tightrope Andrew walked every single moment of his life, both afraid and triumphant, anxious and alive? He couldn’t say it. That was too much. Hoping Neil would understand, Andrew lifted one hand. It felt so far away, stuck at the end of a wire he was barely controlling. Meaningfully, he drew it across his chest, tracing the places where the scars Aaron gave him hid beneath his clothes. Would that be enough?

Blood rushed in Andrew’s ears as Neil wrinkled his nose, shaking his head. “What? I don’t get it, sorry. I… yeah, I don’t understand.” 

How could Andrew have misinterpreted so badly? Neil and ‘Nathaniel’ might not even be the same person. The things he heard from Tetsuji could be referring to something else entirely. He felt so fucking stupid. “Never mind.” He muttered quickly. He couldn’t tell Neil anything about himself now. He would never open his goddamn mouth ever again. Feeling his jaw lock up again, he turned silently back to the Boston skyline, the lights blurring into a haze.

“Sorry,” Neil sighed, “if you… if you want to tell me later you can, I just… everything’s fine, right?”

Even feeling distant and closed up, Andrew could still discern the slight shaking in Neil’s voice. Was it fear? It was too late. He didn’t want to talk to anyone forever. He gave his shoulder the barest shrug, imagining his bones turning into a fossil and the rising wind blowing them away over the Charles.

There were several more minutes of silence, Neil fidgeting somewhat beside him, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the cold roof. Andrew was starting to wish he would just go back inside when Neil slowly, painstakingly, forced out a few words. “I’m sorry. For lying,” he muttered, “Don’t… don’t not talk to me. I don’t know how to talk about it. But I know, Andrew. I know. Just give me a minute.”

Startled, knocked completely off guard, Andrew spun to face Neil. “You understand? I don’t need you to talk about it. It’s fucking impossible to talk about,” he said quickly, feeling his heart go from a fist-sized block of granite to a pulsing, writhing thing in his chest, “I just need to know. Honestly, are we the same?”

His hands visibly twitching with the effort, Neil loosened his tie, then picked at the top button of his shirt until it fell open, one bandaged finger tracing the base of his neck. It took Andrew a moment to realize what he was seeing — no Adam’s apple.

Andrew felt like a child just learning how to read again. Finally. Someone like him.

But he couldn’t say that, couldn’t say anything like that. “Neil. Thank you.” He managed, after what felt like ten thousand years of drawn breath. “You don’t have to show me any more. It’s enough.”

Breathing out in what sounded like deep relief, Neil quickly buttoned his shirt again. “I don’t think I can show you any more. It just… fuck, it feels good. To know.” He took a few more deep breaths. “Neil is my name, but it took me a really long time to get around to using it. My dad is… a manipulative fuck. So he didn’t give a shit that I’m like this, he just wanted control. Like he always does. So he tried to name me after himself, but that’s still just his name, y’know? It’s not me. Um. Yeah.” 

Neil looked winded now, like he’d run a mile in the time it took him to release even that small amount of information. “Neil is your name. I couldn’t imagine you as anything else.” Andrew allowed a ghost of a smile onto his face, hoping it would be reassuring. “It’s perfect. Did you pick your own middle name?”

“I did, but it’s not like anyone’s going to call me by it.” Neil laughed weakly, an ounce of the fear leaving his eyes. “If you really want to know, it’s Abram.”

“Neil Abram Josten.” Andrew tried it out, the syllables feeling like a spell on his lips. “Abram. I like that. It’s unique.” Like you, he wanted to add, but didn’t.

For a minute or two, it didn’t matter that Neil was probably very dangerous, or that Andrew was in over his head, or that the entire Moriyama family was downstairs having a jolly old time and the Dust Bowl was fucked and the world was dying one strike of heat lightning at a time. Neil and Andrew were two of a kind. Self-made men. There was too much Andrew didn’t and never would know about him, and too much Andrew could never tell anyone, serial killer or no. But there was a crack in his armor and when he reached out, something identical on the other side reached back. And that was okay.

Andrew lit one cigarette, then another, passing the second one to Neil. Now the silence was comfortable. Together they let the smoke curl up into the night sky, further shielding the stars from sight. Andrew could barely pick them out, but he thought he could see the Big Dipper and Orion. Maybe. He was no astronomer. Neil was lost in thought, his eyes roving the stars as though searching for something ephemeral up in space, and Andrew was surprised for the millionth time that night as he watched the faint starlight reflect in Neil’s eyes and didn’t feel like ripping his heart out.

Whatever experiences he and Neil shared, they could figure that out one difficult conversation at a time. They could pull teeth when they were up to it. When Andrew finished off the cigarette, he stood, offering a hand to Neil. “I’m ready to go back in. Are you?”

Neil turned away from the night sky, his smile finding a way to touch every corner of his face. “Yeah, I think so.” He nodded, taking Andrew’s hand, letting Andrew pull him to his feet. 

First, Neil went back down the ladder, then Andrew, after he was sure Neil made it to the bottom. When the building was still a school, had students come up here to have hard conversations? Andrew wondered as he started back down, pulling the hatch closed behind him. Carefully, he worked his way step by step back down the ladder until he was one step from the floor. “Hey,” he spun around to face Neil, “I’m a little taller than you like this, don’t you think? Now how does it feel?”

Neil snorted back laughter. “I don’t know, how does it feel to have an inferiority complex based around your height?”

“Come on. Don’t you know what they say about stones and glass houses?” Andrew replied, reveling in how good it was to talk about meaningless horseshit again. How good it felt to just _be_ with Neil, who was smiling now, looking so at ease. He had the slightest bit of a dimple.

Andrew had been looking at Neil’s mouth for too long and he knew it. It was time to make his dumbass thoughts a reality and stop stalling. Taking one hand from the ladder rung where it rested, Andrew used his weight to swing forward, resting his fingers lightly against Neil’s cheek. Was this enough to ask permission?

Apparently so, because Neil’s smile widened, and then he was stepping into Andrew’s space, and after far too much speculation Andrew finally knew just how warm and soft his lips were. Andrew gripped the ladder with his other hand, the hand on Neil’s cheek sliding carefully back into his hair. Sensations came and went suddenly in flashes. Neil’s soft breath on his mouth, his hair slipping between Andrew’s fingers, the gentle brush of his eyelashes on Andrew’s cheek. The stuttering of Andrew’s own heart, reminding him he could still feel this way about another man. It was almost innocent.

Andrew was first to pull away, well aware he was making some kind of awful, flustered expression. “Was that okay?” He asked, the words slipping unbidden from him. 

Laughing quickly, blushing fiercely under his foundation, Neil nodded. “Well of course, it was a lot better than okay!”

“I don’t want to go back to the party.” Andrew admitted, praying Neil would pick up what he was obviously putting down. “My car is accepting passengers. If you also don’t want to go back to the awful party. And would rather go someplace else.”

“Like where you live?” Neil raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

“Like maybe where I live.”

“I was just wondering what your place might look like.” Neil took Andrew’s hand and they were going down the stairs, twice as fast as Andrew had gone up them

“I’m guessing that’s a yes, Abram?”

“It’s a yes, absolutely.” Neil squeezed Andrew’s hand and if he wasn’t holding the banister too, Andrew would have fallen down the stairs.

Andrew took over leading the way once they made it back out into the night. “What about your friends? Won’t they worry about you?”

Neil shrugged. “Let them worry, I can handle myself, they know that. I’m fine, they don’t need to babysit me everywhere I go. I’ll call them tomorrow and let them know what a great night I had.”

“Great night?” Andrew shook his head as he opened the passenger door of the Victoria for Neil. “Well shit. It looks like you have high expectations already.”

“No pressure though, really.” Neil slid into the car, and in a second it already seemed as though he belonged there completely. Now that the ice had been broken, Andrew couldn’t help leaning into the car, and Neil caught on immediately, shifting forward to kiss him again.

Andrew wanted to drive as fast as possible, but another instinct told him Neil might not like that. As soon as they were on the road, Andrew had to focus on keeping the car to 40, not allowing his foot to drop on the gas like a brick. Why shouldn’t his surroundings go by as quickly as his heart was beating? Neil was already fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station in range. Most of the channels were static these days, but the look of concentration on his face as he twisted the knobs was winsome. 

“Tell me if I cross a line,” Andrew said bluntly, this time trying to keep his eyes on the road, “I mean it, Josten. Don’t let me do anything you don’t want. Don’t let me forget to ask permission for anything.”

“I think for now I want to keep my clothes on,” Neil finally found a music station, faint ragtime piano coming in through the speakers, “And I’m assuming you might too? But anything up until that is a yes from me. You don’t have to ask or wait for everything, I’m telling you right now it’s gonna be fine. Okay?”

Andrew let his eyes flick to Neil, then back to the road. “You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.” Neil settled back in his seat, relaxing. It wouldn’t be long now until they reached the Tower. Now he was letting Neil into the place where he lived and worked. What could he be inadvertently giving away? He had to keep his guard up somewhat, but maybe it would be okay to treat this like a normal experience and forget altogether about the murders. Just for a little while. 

What would Renee think? Andrew wondered as he parked the Victoria. Should he even tell her what he was doing? She would hear him coming back for sure. She would also probably be able to tell he wasn’t alone. Would she be wary or proud? He would save that conversation for tomorrow. For the time being, he focused on taking Neil’s hand, leading him through the lobby and quickly showing him how to operate the elevator. A minute or two of clanking sounds passed before the cage dropped down, Andrew opening both the door and the grate for Neil, like he regularly behaved politely. Hell, he wouldn’t even open doors for Renee. She could figure it out herself. What was he becoming?

Neil stepped into the elevator, looking all around. “Wow, it’s very baroque in here. Can I work it?”

Andrew moved back into the corner. “Be my guest, if you want to. I’m on the fifteenth floor.” 

Closing the door and pulling the gate shut, Neil purposefully stabbed his finger at the correct button. As the elevator jumped to life, he turned to watch the inside of the shaft slide past through the grate. “I know I could reach out and touch the wall, but I probably shouldn’t.” Neil turned back away, looking amused. One auburn lock of hair had fallen down onto his forehead, and feeling grossly soft, Andrew reached up to fix it for him, officially entering his space. 

“You can touch my head and shoulders,” Andrew said quietly, “but nowhere else. Are you okay with this?”

Giving a small, cheeky smile in response, Neil slid a hand into Andrew’s hair, finally messing up the wax Renee had carefully put into it. “I told you it was fine. Yes, Andrew.”

So now there was nothing stopping him. Vertigo from the still-climbing elevator pulled at Andrew’s center of gravity, only further disorienting him as he kissed Neil, harder than he had on the roof or in the Victoria. He hadn’t meant to put it all on the table like this, but Neil would have to be a complete imbecile not to notice how fiercely Andrew had wanted this. When Andrew lightly bit his lower lip, Neil hummed a quiet, affirming note. When Andrew traced his hands across the double row of buttons on Neil’s suit jacket, Neil moved a hand of his own to help him unbutton them, allowing Andrew one less degree of separation. 

The elevator stopped with a jolt, breaking their kiss for them. Andrew pulled back a half-inch, his face so warm it felt numb. Neil was blushing too, a corner of his cheek untouched by his make-up turned an uneven pink. “Ready to give me the tour?’ He asked, and a little more of Andrew’s self-restraint went down the pipes.

Whatever happened from here on was Morning Andrew’s problem. “In a minute,” Andrew conceded, leaning up to kiss Neil again. He hadn’t quite had enough yet. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night, but he still wanted to make every moment last.


	8. I've Got You Under My Skin

March 23rd, 1933  
Nine in the morning  
The Tower, Boston, Independence

To his utter confusion, Andrew opened his eyes to the sunlight filling his room without the throbbing of a hangover to haunt him. He was in his room, for sure. But he was forgetting something, right? His brain slowed by sleep deficit, Andrew forced his eyes open, trying to remember exactly what had happened the day before.

The banquet. Talking to Neil… oh no, kissing Neil, letting Neil go home with him… 

In a panic, Andrew sat up in bed, now wide awake. He was wearing his undershirt from the night before, as well as his slacks. And, incredibly, Neil had fallen asleep a mere foot away from him, his cheek squished into Andrew’s pillow, his legs curled up over the blankets. Andrew froze, not wanting to wake him. How had this happened? He had to remember.

Most of the night had been taken up by kissing. That much he recalled almost instantly. They had made dinner in Andrew’s small kitchen, since neither of them ate much at the banquet. Andrew had played his favorite records for Neil. They had only fallen asleep in the small hours of the morning, intermittently kissing and talking about meaningless bullshit.

But if it was so meaningless, why did the hazy memory of it feel special somehow? Why did looking at Neil in his bed make Andrew feel so soft inside? Neil hadn’t even combed his hair, strands of it messily sticking up from his head and crushed against the pillow.

Not wanting to disturb Neil, Andrew carefully slid out of bed. Neil hummed a quiet note, his fingers clutching the pillowcase, but he didn’t wake. The way Andrew felt watching him was absurd and tender. He was becoming an abstract painting of himself. 

Turning quickly away, Andrew closed the door behind him and crept down the hall. He could make both of them breakfast and give himself a chance to cool down after… whatever that feeling was. Andrew vaguely recalled Neil mentioning he liked eggs last night, and it was a good thing he could cook them passably. Trying not to think too hard about why he was doing it, Andrew took out a frying pan, opening the icebox for a few eggs and the last of the butter.

The smell of the frying eggs must have woken him, because in a few minutes Neil shuffled down the hall, yawning. “You’re making me breakfast? I didn’t expect that. No offense.” Neil cracked a smile, sitting down at the small table. It was rumpled, but he was still wearing the suit from the night before. He still looked incredibly handsome in it, despite the fact that he had several cowlicks and his shirt was completely untucked.

“None taken,” Andrew managed to reply nonchalantly. He just had to focus on not burning anything for now. “Do you want yours sunny-side up? Or should I start making a mess?”

“Do whatever you want, you’re the head chef.” Neil leaned back in his chair, and Andrew was acutely aware he was watching his every move. He settled for leaving the yolks unbroken, adding salt and pepper to them. Would Neil want coffee? Before he knew it, he was already making two cups. When he set Neil’s plate and cup down, Neil’s small smile made the entire thing worth it.

Neil finished quickly, washing everything down with the coffee. “What time is it?”

Andrew glanced at his watch. “Nine thirty, about.”

Standing, Neil tucked his shirt halfway in. “I should probably get going. Lots to do, you know? But thank you, for all of this. It was really nice.” He said, and it felt so genuine.

Andrew nodded. “Yeah, we’re all busy these days. I hope I see you again soon though.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You will.” Neil put his plate in the sink, even washing out his cup.

Before Neil could slip out the door, Andrew caught his wrist. “I want to-”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Neil said, already bending down to kiss Andrew goodbye. By the time Andrew recovered from the experience, he was already gone, the door closed silently behind him.

The apartment had never felt so empty. Suddenly it was strange to be alone in it again. Andrew pressed his palms into his eyes until strange shapes danced across his vision, sinking down with his back against the closed door. He had been perfectly fine with his physical attraction for Neil. That he could deal with. But it was becoming increasingly clear some actual emotions had snuck into his heart with all the rest of his feelings for the man. Who he still knew almost nothing real about.

There was a knock on the door. Was it Neil? Did he forget something? Andrew scrambled to his feet, pulling the door open to reveal only Renee’s slightly shocked face. “That was fast,” she blinked, looking Andrew over, “Oh wow, what happened to you?”

Andrew frowned. “What do you mean, what happened? I didn’t get back too late.”

Renee put one hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, gently tapping the side of her neck with the other. “Maybe look in a mirror?”

Now a little concerned, Andrew made a beeline for the bathroom. The instant he looked into the mirror over the sink he realized what Renee had been pointing out. Several dark marks had found a new home on his neck, the largest as red and obvious as the wax seal of a letter. He almost forgot he asked Neil to do that. He certainly couldn’t forget now, and neither could anyone he came into contact with. He probed them with his index finger. They weren’t too sore, but damn if Neil hadn’t known what he was doing…

Renee appeared in the mirror behind him, shaking her head. “I’m guessing I just missed the guest of honor on his way out? Or is he still here?”

“No, he left a few minutes ago. Can I borrow a scarf or something?”

“How could I say no? I can’t let you go out looking like an animal got you.” She laughed, patting his shoulder. “It seems like you two had fun. But more importantly, did you get anything out of him?”

Andrew looked at his reflection in silence for a time. What did he really find out, at the end of the day? He had been almost face-to-face with the Butcher. He learned that Neil had a much larger role in the killings than he previously suspected. But he didn’t have a concrete way to stop them. He found out that he and Neil both expressed themselves a certain way, but that was no one’s business but Neil’s. Anything Neil told him in confidence ought to stay with him.

Andrew shrugged. “Not much. But I’ll work on it.”

“Okay, okay. We have other cases to work on too.” Renee stepped back out of the bathroom. “If you want to shower before we get a move on go ahead, but we do have to track down the folks who robbed that clothing store on Newberry. I’ll meet you in the office when you’re ready?”

“Sure, sure.” He really did need to shower. “I’ll see you there.”

Andrew almost wanted to ask Renee if they had a contingency plan for what happened if he started to get truly attached to Neil, but as she left the apartment he realized that would be stupid, because it wasn’t a hypothetical anymore. He was attached to Neil, period. 

Now he just needed to figure out how to work around that.


	9. Summertime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lol @ folks who read this regularly !! I'm going back to school pretty soon for Spring semester but that doesn't mean I want to stop working on this by any means, I'm just going to be trying harder to pace myself with writing and posting while also juggling class and stuff,, So I think my schedule will be that I'm gonna post once per week, probably on saturday or sunday! Just for future reference! so after this the next chapter will come on either next saturday or next sunday :0
> 
> thank you for reading !!!!

March 25th, 1933  
Eleven fifteen in the morning  
Trinity Church  
Boston, Independence

It was Sunday, and that meant Andrew drove Nicky and Renee to church for the morning service. Normally he would stay in the car, but as he parked alongside the snowbank marking the curb, Nicky leaned over the driver’s seat to bug him. “You can come if you want,” he said, poking Andrew in the shoulder, “it won’t be too long, since it’s so cold, and there’s gonna be food too. Better than sitting in here alone anyway, right?”

“You know I don’t enjoy all this… god stuff.” Andrew grunted, continuing to watch the heavy snowfall cover the hood of the Victoria.

“Well it’s important to Renee. And kind of comforting to me. Come on Andrew, it’ll be quick and you don’t even have to say any of the things. Just sit in the back and… I don’t know, think? Do whatever you would do sitting in the car by yourself.”

Renee poked her head back in the car, smiling. “Andrew are you coming in with us?”

Andrew turned in his seat to make eye contact with his cousin. Now he couldn’t say no. He’d gotten Renee’s hopes up. “Just to sit in the back.” He muttered, sliding out of the driver’s seat and landing directly in the snow. Now his goddamn feet were cold too. Maybe the food would be good enough to make up for it, but he somehow doubted that.

Trinity Church crouched in its own personal cobblestone square, grey and looming behind the curtains of snow. At first glance the stained windows were dark, but there was a light behind the clouded glass, low and orange. Parishioners trickled in one by one, dark blots moving across the snow. The church had a moderate and dedicated following, mostly due to the traumatic weeks directly following the Crash when church staff had provided food and shelter for those in need. Now that the Trojan’s and Moriyama’s ruled the city there was a good deal more stability, but some people never forgot the security Trinity had given them in those early days.

Andrew didn’t give a damn. Church meant a lot of things to him, and none of them good. He didn’t like being told how to feel, for one. Say this prayer, go through these motions. What of it was even true, in the end? But he couldn’t dissuade Renee and Nicky from being able to have faith, and it wasn’t such a terrible thing. There were worse places to be on a Sunday morning than church.

It smelled thickly of incense and candle wax inside, the vaulted cathedral ceiling holding myriad censers worth of smoke. Mahogany pews stretched up the length of the space, ending at a pulpit. Behind the pulpit rose a semi-circle of stained glass windows, their painstakingly depicted saints thrown into shadow by the snow clinging to the glass. Andrew didn’t particularly like the smell, preferring acrid scents to sweet ones, but he could admit it was a well constructed space. Maybe some people would even consider it beautiful.

Deliberately ignoring the approach of anyone who looked like they might want to say hello to him, Andrew slipped through the crowd and plopped himself in the very last pew, pulling his hat low over his face. He could try to just take a nap back here, sleep through the whole thing. Hopefully Nicky and Renee had assigned seats or something so he wouldn’t be forced to participate in anything.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. Renee and Nicky plopped down on either side of him within minutes, Nicky holding a muffin and black coffee. “Do you want this? I just kind of grabbed it.” Nicky offered the drink and the pastry, expectantly.

Andrew couldn’t exactly turn him down. Well, he thought absently, he didn’t want to get any crumbs on his scarf. He pulled the garment off with one hand, reaching for the muffin with the other. “Yeah, I’ll take it.”

It took Andrew far too long to comprehend the amused look that was dawning on Nicky’s face. “Oh, boy. Aaron told me about your creepy boyfriend. Is this his calling card?”

“Fuck off.” Andrew replied, snatching the coffee as well.

Nicky grinned, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “So it is! His name is Neil, right? What’s he like, I want details!”

“Hasn’t Aaron told you enough already?” Andrew muttered through a bite of muffin. It wasn’t so bad, but it could use a little more sugar. He would truly rather talk about anything else at this point, but now Nicky was on a roll, an amused smile crooking the corners of his mouth.

“No, he actually hasn’t,” Nicky sighed, “I would really love to know more about him. How did you two meet? What’s he look like?”

Renee frowned on Andrew’s other side. “Hey, if he wants to keep his relationship on the quiet side that’s his decision. Maybe when he’s ready he’ll tell you. Okay?”

“You know what, no, it’s fine.” Andrew relented. He would give Nicky what he wanted; an interesting story, a window into his cousin’s life. “He’s a singer, we met at Eden’s almost two weeks ago. He has auburn hair, blue eyes… he’s got a couple inches on me, but he isn’t taller by much. He took me dancing a couple times. There, happy?”

Nicky nodded, his smile somehow wider. “He sounds interesting! You conveniently left out that part that he’s one of the King’s Men, but still, interesting. I’ll forgive you for that, I feel generous today.”

Hopefully Nicky wouldn’t pry any further into it. Andrew’s own feelings were complicated enough as it was. Andrew never thought he would be hoping for church to start, but the moment a small choir took up a hymn he felt a bizarre sense of relief. Sliding down in the pew, he pulled his hat even lower over his face, remembering how much he hated this as a kid. The awful feeling of being stuck in a box, in a system, his mother pulling his hair out with fierce tugs of a brush so he would look good for Sunday School. At least he wasn’t that miserable child anymore, just a somewhat less miserable adult.

The choir wasn’t bad, but Andrew couldn’t help thinking about another room, another singer, Neil’s mouth glancing off the microphone. The same mouth he now knew quite well. He wondered where Neil was, what he was doing. He could be out there, in the snow. He could be helping his twisted father with a new crime. Andrew hoped Neil was singing. That he could live in that moment, in the passion he had for the music, and not whatever else he was running from.

Was he really thinking like this? Andrew couldn’t believe he was seriously entertaining these thoughts, but here he was, daydreaming about Neil. Wishing the best for him, in spite of what he was and the things he had probably done. But then again, Andrew had done fucked up things too. No one in his life was an angel. If he was going to sit here and struggle with moral dilemmas, Andrew thought, almost cracking a grin, he might as well walk twenty feet away and do it in the confessional, where most people did.

Andrew closed his eyes, letting his thoughts unspool. There was talking now, an authoritative voice. It was beyond him to care remotely about paying attention to it. How had Neil known he was a man? What had his life been like? Andrew kept digging up new questions for himself, even as he acknowledged he would probably never be given answers. 

After what felt like an actual eternity, Andrew was roused by Renee gently shaking his shoulder. “It’s over now… are you awake?”

Pushing his hat back up, Andrew opened his eyes. “I was awake the whole time. I think. Are we going back to the Tower now? It’s so shitty outside. I definitely don’t see myself getting any work done out there.”

“Actually, I have a way better idea.” Nicky stood, pulling his coat on. “Why don’t we swing by Eden’s? See if a certain somebody is there? I’d love to meet him.”

This was the worst idea of all time. But Andrew couldn’t deny that something in him wanted to see Neil again as soon as possible. “We can see if he’s there,” he sighed, “Please just don’t embarrass me.”

As they walked back out into the haze of snow, Renee hung back slightly. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Getting more people involved? Aaron had to know I think, but letting him meet Nicky too… is that necessary?”

“No, it definitely isn’t.” Andrew struggled briefly to light a cigarette in the shelter of one cupped hand. “It’s stupid. And complicated. I just want to see him, I couldn’t care less what Nicky thinks as long as he doesn’t act weird.” Neil probably wouldn’t even be there. Who kept their hired entertainment around for hours this strange? Then again, Eden’s management didn’t really seem to care what was normal.

Renee gave him a wan smile. “I trust your judgment. I can try to keep Nicky from saying anything embarrassing, if that will help.”

“You can try.” Andrew affirmed, pushing some accumulated snow off the Victoria’s hood before getting in. Eden’s wasn’t terribly far from here, and the car was usually decent in bad weather. Its engine only protested for a second before growling to life, the wheels reliably gripping the sleet-covered road as Andrew nudged the gas pedal.

It was all too calm on the streets. No fighting, no pedestrians, only the silent fall of snow. Andrew only took a couple of minutes to find his way to the red brick building, parking underneath a small tin awning on the other side of the street. It didn’t look too deserted inside, what with all the lights on, the obvious shadows of occupancy moving back and forth through the soft yellow glow. Nicky beat him out of the car, hurrying across the street to the bar, looking like a kid on Christmas about to open his largest gift. Andrew had to hurry after him, not wanting his cousin to see Neil without him there.

Andrew just managed to slip past Nicky, maneuvering under his arm and through the door, but the moment he stepped inside something sunk in his chest. The stage was dark, the microphone pushed back to a shadowed corner. Of course Neil wasn’t going to be there, why would he? Nicky sighed as he squeezed in around Andrew. “Oh, that sucks. And I bet you got your hopes up too. I’ll spot you your drink to make up for it if you want.”

“I guess I’ll take you up on that.” Andrew muttered. Why was he so disappointed? He meandered slowly towards the bar, most of the wind having left his sails in a hurry. Making sure no one was looking, he boosted himself onto a tall bar stool. It was always sort of embarrassing to have to scramble up onto them like a child, but it wasn’t Andrew’s fault he never had a second growth spurt.

Andrew had barely adjusted to his new perch before he thought he heard someone calling his name. Snapping back into reality, Andrew spun around on his stool to catch sight of Neil, who he hadn’t seen sitting on the other side of the bar in his disappointed haze. As he took notice of him, Neil’s entire face changed, from apprehension to a warm and genuine smile. “Hey, it is you! What are you doing here?”

Whatever had fallen down the ladder of Andrew’s ribs began to rapidly climb them again. He slid quickly off his stool, moving to one next to Neil. “Honestly? Looking for you.” He admitted.

Neil smiled again and god dammit it was such a nice smile. Andrew’s brain scrambled to think of words to describe it that were above a second grade reading level, but somehow ‘nice’ was as far as he could get without shorting out completely. “Thoughtful of you. I have hours here on Sunday afternoons usually, but I like to get here early… to get out of the house, you know?”

“Oh! You found him after all!” Suddenly, Andrew’s private bubble popped as Nicky rapidly approached them, Renee at his side. “So this is the elusive Neil Josten. I see why you can’t seem to stop talking about him.” Nicky grinned, looking Neil over. “I’m Nicholas Hemmick, but you can call me Nicky. Pleasure to meet you.”

“This is my cousin. He doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up.” Andrew quickly interjected before Neil could get a chance to react.

“You talk about me?” Neil laughed nervously. Andrew resisted the urge to deck his cousin in front of god and everyone. 

Renee nodded, giving him a soft smile. “Only nice things though, we promise! You remember me, right?”

“Renee? Weren’t you the one who kind of… match-made us? At the Backward Pawn?” Andrew wished he didn’t feel so many things at once when Neil implied they were an _us_. A unit, one sovereign thing, not just two people sharing each other’s space. Us. 

Renee bowed slightly. “That would be me! You are both very welcome, by the way.”

Nicky, meanwhile, was not finished yet. “So Neil, I’m sure you know this but my sweet little cousin can be pretty nasty on occasion. I’d watch myself around him if I were you. He’s not all sunshine and daisies… but he can be really loyal once you get past all his rough edges.”

“Who said I was looking for sunshine or daisies?” Neil replied, real fondness in his voice.

Andrew was beginning to have enough of this. “Nicky, don’t you have somewhere else to go be a dickhead?” He deadpanned, giving him a warning look.

“I mean, not yet…” Nicky gave him a pleading look.

“Why don’t we just go find our own seats for a little while?” Renee asked sweetly, but the grip she suddenly had on Nicky’s arm said otherwise.

Finally he relented. “Okay, okay, fine, I’ll leave you and your little boyfriend alone.” Nicky patted Andrew’s head before letting Renee tug him away.

Neil frowned, watching Nicky go. “You didn’t tell me you had a cousin… I mean, I don’t mind that you didn’t but… he doesn’t even really look like you or anything.”

“I don’t really like to talk about my family.” Andrew admitted. “It’s complicated. I don’t like to get into it unless I have to. But there he is, now you’ve been acquainted.” He hoped Neil wouldn’t pry into it any more. The less he had to share, the better this day would go.

Blessedly, Neil seemed to understand, letting it go almost immediately. “Yeah, I know the feeling. Are you gonna stick around to watch me?”

Neil sang every song like it might be his last. Even if Andrew didn’t know him personally, he would have sat in Eden’s all afternoon to hear him sing. “It would be criminal not to. Of course I will.”

“I have to head out pretty much as soon as my set ends, but I want to see you again soon.” Neil scooted his hand a little closer on the bar countertop and quite by instinct Andrew met him halfway, letting their fingers curl together. “The next hot day, do you want to try going sailing? I have a boat but I don’t ever really use it. I guess I’ve never had a good opportunity until now. If you want I’ll call you when the weather gets right for it? My boat is on Battery Wharf, a little ways down from the Castle.”

“Only if you promise not to capsize us. Deal?”

Neil gave Andrew’s hand the barest squeeze. “Deal.”


	10. Isn't This a Lovely Day?

March 27th, 1933  
One twenty in the afternoon  
Battery Wharf  
Boston, Independence

It occurred to Andrew that he might be out of touch on what clothes were appropriate to wear on a boat. The temperature outside was infernal, somewhere in the range of ninety to one hundred degrees, but he wasn’t quite ready yet to wear short sleeves around Neil. The instant Neil hung up the phone after asking Andrew to head down to the wharf, Andrew had raced down to his closet in a mild panic, managing to find a pair of oddly faded khaki shorts and a blue polo shirt he was marginally sure actually belonged to Aaron. He could try a more yacht club look and attempt to wear a cardigan, but he doubted he owned one of those anyway.

By some miracle, he did own boat shoes, although he couldn’t remember when he’d acquired them or why they were half crushed under a steamer trunk in the back of the closet. Maybe these were Aaron’s too, he considered. Eventually he settled on donning a thin black button-up, making sure the cuffs fit snugly around his wrists, but only buttoning it down halfway, leaving half the hem hanging out of the waistband of his shorts and only tucking in the other side.

Andrew wasn’t sure whether he looked like a fashion disaster or not. Allison wasn’t around for a second opinion though, so whatever Neil thought about his outfit was moot. He had already dug his grave about it. Besides, what did it matter what Neil thought? Andrew had taken the previous few days to try and set his head straight. Neil was too good to be true, even as a fantasy. This had to be the last time Andrew saw him, and Andrew had to take his mission seriously. Today he would wring as much information from Neil as he could, and tomorrow he would start planning with Renee on how exactly he was going to bring the Butcher down.

Not to mention Andrew still couldn’t put a finger on Neil’s true feelings about his father. If Andrew did manage to kill Nathan, would Neil hate him for it? He had to convince himself it didn’t matter what light Neil held him in. After today, it couldn’t mean a damn thing.

Heading back up to the office briefly, Andrew left a short note to Renee and Allison on the desk explaining where he had gone. They’d be back sooner or later, and he was feeling generous enough to let them know why he had disappeared from the office if they wondered. At least he didn’t have to pull apart his feelings for his friends. It had taken him years to accept their genuine care for him, but now that he had it was a relief to know where he stood with at least two people out of the entire population of the world.

It was so hot outside that Andrew couldn’t bear to drive without all the windows in the Victoria wide open. The inside of the car was a sarcophagus of stale air, superheated by the metal and glass surrounding it. It would actually be a relief to get out on the water, regardless of how foul and polluted said water might be. Andrew had to shield his eyes with one hand as he drove, the sun seemingly the size of Jupiter and twice as scorching as the fires of hell. Maybe he was being a bit dramatic. 

Andrew parked the Victoria in an alley near the wharf, maneuvering it in behind a dumpster, where hopefully the shade of the nearby buildings would keep it from getting too hot while he was gone. He would be going home alone today. He was not about to risk taking Neil again, getting even more stupidly attached than he already was.

The wharf was long and surprisingly deserted on such a hot day as this. There were a multitude of boats drawn up along the dock. Andrew would have thought at least a couple other maritime enthusiasts would share Neil’s idea, but perhaps it was just too hot for anyone else to want to go outside at all. As Andrew set out to cross the street towards the dock, a blue Cadillac barely cut him off, zooming past at speeds Andrew was momentarily jealous of. Once the coast was clear, he jogged across the street to the wooden planks of the dock, giving a small two-fingered salute in greeting to the figure he barely spotted down at the furthest end.

Neil waved back, standing. Andrew hustled down the rest of the dock to join him, the scent of brine and bay rot filling his lungs. Neil had been sitting on a crate near a blue striped sailboat, about fifteen feet long from bow to stern. When Andrew was within earshot, Neil called out to him. “Hey, there you are! I was worried for a second you got lost.”

“Me? Lost? Never.” Andrew stopped short a few feet from Neil, not sure how far to take this. He didn’t want to distance himself completely, since he still wanted Neil to trust him enough to reveal what he knew. But he didn’t want to tempt himself. He settled for crossing into Neil’s space, kissing his cheek and pulling back away. There. Middle ground.

“Never.” Neil agreed, holding an arm out to the boat. “Well, this is she! What do you think?”

The sailboat was clean and tidy looking, and although Andrew had never been particularly interested in sailing, Neil’s enthusiasm for it intrigued him. Painted in dark blue on the hull were the words _California Beach_. Andrew nodded. “I’ve always liked cars a lot more than boats, but I see the appeal. Did you name her that?”

Neil seemed surprised that Andrew had noticed. “Oh, no, I didn’t,” he said, his words strangely rushed, “my mother did. This was her boat, like… ten years ago.”

“Mhm. But now it’s your boat.” Andrew appraised it thoughtfully. Neil had never mentioned his mother before. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t questioned that before. The Butcher didn’t have a wife, did he? It was likely that Neil’s mother was either separated from him or dead, but Andrew couldn’t begin to speculate without any clues. 

As he thought, he barely registered the return of the blue Cadillac, which had spun back around and screeched to a stop in front of the dock. Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew spotted two men step out of the car. More potential sailors, ready to take advantage of the heat? He wouldn’t have given it any more thought if not for the quick breath Neil drew beside him, an almost mechanical hiss between his teeth. Andrew spun to face him and found an entirely different man looking back at him than the one he had kissed on the cheek moments ago; this Neil was blank-faced, his jaw hard, his eyes colder than he had yet to see them. Andrew wasn’t sure if it was an expression of fear or defiance, but he was sure it didn’t line up with who he had imagined Neil Josten to be.

Of course, the two men quickly approaching them were none other than Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day. Riko’s cane, which he absolutely did not need, bounced in a joyful violence off the boards of the dock. Kevin came a few steps behind him, his hands in his pockets, his face drawn and almost devoid of expression. There was a rush of negative feeling that followed them, the displacement of air before a punch. Andrew felt for his knives, safe in their sheathes under the fabric of his shirt. He was beginning to think he might need them.

“Riko, Kevin.” Neil said, bitterly. “What are you doing here? I don’t remember inviting you.”

“And I don’t remember anybody giving you permission to come off your leash, Nathaniel,” Riko replied, a nasty smirk on his face. “You can be so fucking stupid. Even when you think you’re being so clever. What made you think this time would be any different? You knew we were watching. So why? I’d like to know, before I get to bring you and your playmate back to the Master.”

So Riko had been following Tetsuji’s instructions. He had known about this, about Andrew and Neil, the entire time. And now… Neil was in trouble over it. Had Neil known he was being watched? Andrew shot him a look, taking in the brittle look of hatred on Neil’s face, the way his body quivered with tension, every clench of his fist a promise to fight back and do it with venom. “You’re not going to lay a hand on him. He doesn’t know anything, he’s just harmless fun.”

Kevin shook his head. Wrong move. Riko laughed, patting his palm with the length of his cane. “You know, I would have believed that if I was maybe ten years old and I didn’t know the name and face of one of the moderately more successful private eyes in the state my family fucking owns.” There was a twitch, his foot shifting on the dock, arm pulling back to lift the laquered wood high in the air and Andrew knew what was coming because he had seen this so many times, knew where the cane would land. 

He was moving before he could convince himself not to, knife in hand, hand at Riko’s throat. “I wouldn’t touch him if I were you.” Andrew said quietly, looking Riko in the eyes, and fuck if it didn’t feel amazing to see the smallest bead of fear in them.

“And I would put the knife down.” Kevin finally spoke, a tiny, silenced pistol in his hand. Andrew wasn’t sure where he had pulled it from, or so quickly, but it was surely there, glinting in the sun and trained on Neil. “Or I will shoot your man. Or don’t, maybe you don’t care about him at all, and this was an interesting little game for both of you. I’m giving you a choice.”

Riko laughed, and Andrew could feel the vibrations in his hand. “Check-mate, Andrew Joseph Minyard. Or should I say-”

“No, you won’t,” Andrew hissed, knowing what was coming, desperate to keep his old, hated name out of Riko’s mouth. There had to be a way out of this, right? But all he had brought were knives to a gunfight. If he cut Riko, even if he managed to kill him, he had no doubt that Kevin would shoot Neil.

He couldn’t live with that. Walking away he could deal with. Being responsible for Neil’s death was not an eventuality Andrew could cope with. Slowly, he lowered the knife from Riko’s neck, taking a careful step back. “Don’t shoot him.” He said, not looking back to see Neil’s response.

Riko made a soft noise of mocking sympathy. “Someone got a little attached, didn’t he? Nathaniel, this would be so sweet if it meant anything. Well, say goodbye to him. I don’t think your father is going to be very happy to meet his freak child’s paramour.”

Andrew barely heard the start of Neil’s furious reply before blinding pain exploded in his temple. He was probably concussed, he thought numbly, staggering away from Riko’s cane, and why the fuck had he let his guard down anyway? It was too late to wonder. The world was telescoping, and he didn’t have time to even raise his arms against a second blow from Riko turned everything black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

??????  
??:??, ?????  
???????????????  
????, ????????

When Andrew woke it was like rising slowly from deep water and then all at once. He had no idea how long he spent nauseously floating up through a grey fog, just dimly aware of pain in his head, that he even had a head. And then in an instant he burst back into existence, gasping a breath, jerking his head up and sending white spots through his vision. “Fuck,” he muttered, blinking his eyes hard to clear them. He had really fucked up. There should have been no way he could let a little shit like Riko knock him out, but he had been so relieved over Neil-

Where was Neil? Where was he, for that matter? As Andrew came back into himself, his senses disjointedly reconnecting, Andrew took in the grey concrete walls and floor, the thick, damp smell of mold. He was suddenly aware that he was sitting down, his hands forced around the back of a chair and secured to something metallic, most likely handcuffs. Above, the light of two bare lightbulbs swirled and twisted in Andrew’s vision, making him gag almost as though he had motion sickness. He was probably underground, definitely restrained, and potentially fucked.

But what about Neil? “Neil?” Andrew rasped, antithetically wanting both water and a cigarette.

There was movement behind him, the creaking of wood as someone shifted. “You’re awake?” Neil asked, and each word sounded like a shard of broken glass. Glittering and sharp and ready to shatter into a thousand pieces. Andrew twisted his head, the room swirling like a carousel, and sure enough he and Neil had been seated back to back, both cuffed to their chairs.

“Yes.” Andrew breathed. He was alive. They were here, trapped, but alive.

“Do you want to hear something really stupid?” Neil sounded exhausted, completely wearied and bitter. So different from the young man who had cheerfully asked him to dance at the Backward Pawn, and yet still the same.

“Don’t leave me waiting, Josten.”

“I thought if I didn’t say anything it would be easier for you. Can you believe it?” Neil laughed, but there was no joy in it. “I knew you were looking for information on my father. From the first time we met I knew it. The murders you were investigating… yeah, I knew. But I thought if I kept my mouth shut you might be able to figure it out on your own. It wouldn’t be as complicated. Maybe that was wishful thinking.

“Neil Josten is… is… he’s kind of made-up. Sort of. He’s just a nicer version of me, but I like being him so fucking much. I didn’t want to be the one to make everything end even though… I did want to be honest. I think I was just having too much fun. I like being Neil more than I like being Nathaniel.” Neil stopped, taking a few shallow breaths. “Even though he started out as being made-up. He’s the most real I ever get to be, Andrew. Nathaniel is who my father told me to be. He could live with me being… being a man. But I had to stay his, had to be a smaller version of him. Every day I get to be Neil is a relief because it means I get to be myself. Nathaniel has all the worst parts of me, Neil gets all the best. Nathaniel knows how to kill. Neil doesn’t ever want to. My father only cares about having an heir he can show off to the Moriyamas. I wanted you to win, but I guess I was just… being so fucking stupid, I should have told you everything when I had the chance.”

“But instead you lied?” Andrew sighed, something heavy sliding into place in his gut. He had, in a way, seen this coming. The furtive micro-expressions Neil could never completely hide. The half-truths he occasionally let slip. So much of him was constructed, an act he built himself. It was strange that although they were not facing each other, Andrew was seeing more of Neil now than he ever had before.

“Yes.” Neil said, so quietly his voice could have been dust settling.

Andrew couldn’t help the soft laughter that worked its way out of him. “I could have guessed. Day one you said you hated dancing. And then at The Castle you lovingly taught me how to tango. I think I can tell Neil likes to dance more than Nathaniel ever will. But fuck me, I wish you had told me. Nothing left now but to find a way out of this.”

Neil was silent after that, either unable or unwilling to respond. Who could blame him? Andrew thought. He had only been thinking idealistically. Wanting Andrew to win, to help him through the last legs of a fight he had clearly started himself too many times to count.

Carefully, Andrew twisted his hands in his cuffs, searching blindly until his fingers connected with Neil’s. Neil didn’t recoil, letting his fingers slip into Andrew’s. The bandages were gone, and at last Andrew could feel Neil’s fingers for what they were; ribbed with scar tissue, covered in patches of burned skin, old marks and new ones crowding together on a small canvas. “This wasn’t the first time, was it? That you tried to sabotage him?”

Neil snorted. “I couldn’t stop doing it if I tried. He punishes me every time… but he leaves me in working condition. He needs his assistant. His little butcher to help him. And I fucking hate it.” He threaded his fingers tighter with Andrew’s, letting each wound trace a unique path against Andrew’s skin. “I wonder what he’ll do this time. I would guess cut my hands off, but he needs those…”

Andrew leaned back as far as he dared, letting his head rest on Neil’s shoulder. He thought he understood now, why Neil was giving up all these secrets so freely. It was obvious Neil didn’t expect Andrew would survive this. He wasn’t going to ask what Nathan would make Neil to do the private eye he had been planning on giving his family secrets. If they didn’t get out of here, Andrew would almost certainly find his way out of this place in pieces, displayed in a public area where Renee might stumble upon him. “I need you to listen to me.” Andrew said quietly. “If you had to make a choice, right now, who are you? Are you Neil Abram Josten? Or are you the Butcher’s son? Because I will only save one of those people. I think you know which one.”

There was a long, shaky sound of breath being released from between teeth, Neil’s fingers clenching and unclenching on Andrew’s. “Neil Abram Josten.” He said louder, owning it. “That’s my name. That’s who I am. I won’t be my father’s toy anymore, I can’t keep flirting with rebellion and never following through. This is it.”

“Then we’re going to fight our way out of this together.” Andrew promised him. “Trust me. I’ve gotten out of weirder situations than this. We’re getting out of here, Neil. I just need one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Can you be honest? For once in your goddamn life, from here on out, can you just be honest with me? I don’t need it for anyone else. Commit.”

“As long as you are with me. Yes.”

Andrew closed his eyes. Finally. A version of Neil he could understand. If he wasn’t dead by the end of the day, he wouldn’t have to leave him behind after all. Both relieved and on edge, Andrew settled in to wait. There was a chance that by the end of this they might both get out alive, and he was willing to take it.


	11. Fly Me To The Moon

March 28th, 1933  
Ten minutes past midnight  
The Tower  
Boston, Independence

Renee stared at the hastily scribbled note for the millionth time since she found it. ‘Renee,’ it read, ‘Going to Battery Wharf to see Neil. Probably for the last time. I’ll make it quick, home before nightfall. See you and Allison for dinner.’ Except Andrew hadn’t been home for dinner, and he wasn’t in his apartment. Allison had gone to check on the roof for him, but there was no sign of him there either. 

Giving in to a brief wave of frustration, Renee crumpled the note tightly in her hand until the sharp edges began to dig into her palm. It was unlike Andrew not to hold true to a promise. He was a train wreck of a man, but if he said he would be home, he meant it. It was after midnight now, and every second that passed was another moment that Andrew might be in danger. It had been too trusting of her to assume that Neil was as harmless as Andrew seemed to think he was.

Letting out a long stream of air through her nose, Renee tossed the paper back to the desk. She was still working out how to make prayers in Andrew’s name, but tried anyway, closing her eyes and asking for his safety as politely as she could, whether he cared about it or not. When she opened her eyes, it was clear what she had to do.

“Allison?” She called out into the hall, closing and locking the office door. “We’re breaking into Andrew’s room. And then we’re going to go find him.”

“You really think something happened to him?” Allison frowned, looking massively skeptical. “Usually Andrew holds his own.”

“I just have a gut feeling.” Renee was already heading for the stairwell, urgency biting at her heels. “If he said the wrong thing to Neil… he might have been found out, Neil could have retaliated. Or even worse, gotten the Moriyama family involved. If that happened I think we’d be lucky to have any Andrew to bring back at all.” Saying it clinically was one thing, but picturing Andrew actually meeting his maker was another. Renee didn’t want to dwell on it too hard. She loved Allison, and although Andrew served an entirely different function in her life, Renee loved him just the same, as the truest friend she had.

It wasn’t hard at all to break into Andrew’s apartment, even less hard to find the stash of knives he kept in his bedside table. These were the outcasts, the ones that wouldn’t fit into the sheaths he wore, but like the knives Andrew kept on his person, these had once belonged to Renee herself. Picking them back up, she knew, would only be temporary. Once they found Andrew, she would turn them over to him. “Allison? Do you have anything that could be used as a weapon? Or do you want me to find one for you?”

Allison dug through her purse and the pockets of her trench coat, coming up with a pair of bedazzled brass knuckles, a spotless Colt Peacemaker, and a set of keys that unfolded into knives. “Do you think this is enough?” She asked, jangling the keys for affectation.

Renee couldn’t help laughing. “I do love that you decided to take all of that with you on an average day out. But yes, that’s enough. I’m just going to get my own gun. In case I need it.” Once she had that, they would be ready to go. They should probably take the tram instead of going on foot, since Andrew’s car was likely stranded somewhere near the wharf. As soon as Renee’s own semi-automatic Savage was safely tucked into the inner pocket of her blazer, she tugged Allison into the elevator, running the list of late night subway lines through her head.

“We can take the blue line from here to the Atlantic Street elevated track and then from there I think we should be able to get off right on the wharf.” Renee muttered to herself, trying to keep it straight and separate from her worries about Andrew.

As they started down into the tram tunnel, the heavy scent of smog and oil and dust lifting out of the dim stairwell around them, Allison reached for Renee’s hand, giving it a hard squeeze. “You know he’s okay, right? Andrew is like a tick. You can’t kill him just by stepping on him or squeezing him or whatever, you have to like, set him on fire and flush him down the toilet, and even then he could still be alive down there. We couldn’t get rid of him if we wanted to.”

Renee squeezed back, just as hard. “I know that as well as anyone. I just can’t help but be nervous, you know?” Digging in her pockets, she found a handful of tram tokens, which she stuck into the turnstile blocking their path to the platform. Now they just had to wait for the next Eastbound car. The platform was almost completely deserted by this time, the only other people being a street musician who had fallen asleep with his violin still in his hands, and a group of very tired looking men in suits, wearing the distinctive red and gold ties of the Trojan family.

Wind pulsed down the tunnel as the tram pulled in, three passenger cars and an engine car. Renee hopped over the gap, and too nervous to sit down, simply grabbed one of the leather straps hanging from the ceiling as the tram started up again. Allison stood with her out of solidarity, spacing apart her high-heel clad feet on the floor for proper balance as the car jolted back and forth.

When they transferred to the elevated line, Renee couldn’t help but watch the yellow lights of the surrounding buildings slide past in a kaleidoscopic haze. Andrew usually always looked out the window, trying to bait his adrenaline rush with the view of the asphalt rushing twenty, thirty feet below the car. Renee wasn’t afraid of heights, but she could understand why fear would be compelling to Andrew. Being caught between a rock and a hard place was his specialty. Allison pulled her out of her thoughts when the train reached the Battery Wharf stop, and together they slipped down the metal stairs leading back to earth.

“First we should try to find the car. He probably didn’t park it on the street.” Renee looked over the wharf, which was bathed in pale moonlight. “He always puts it somewhere weird.”

Allison wasted no time heading into a nearby alleyway, poking her head behind dumpsters and lifting various tarps. It was probably a good idea for them to stick together, just in case. Renee followed along, keeping her eyes peeled for anything that could have indicated Andrew came that way, or any sign of a struggle. Although evidence of a fight meant next to nothing in a city where it was strange that a day passed without conflict.

“I found it!” Allison called, waving Renee over behind a large industrial dumpster, where the Victoria was lurking in the shadows like a massively expensive insect. “He’s not here though… the hood is cold. It’s been parked for a long time probably.”

Renee hurried over to try the door, but was unsurprised to find it was locked. Andrew’s keys practically lived in his pocket, and he never left anything unlocked if he was turning his back on it. Peering into the dark window though, it was apparent there wasn’t anything left inside either.

“Y’know, The Castle is only a couple of blocks away from here,” Allison sighed, “it’s kind of weird that Andrew would agree to meet Neil so close to where all the Moriyama’s cool their heels. I bet-”

“Of course.” Renee interrupted her, the answer to the puzzle making itself instantly clear. “They had to have realized he was poking around. I’d bet a million dollars he’s there right now. Either one of the other King’s Men found Andrew out, or Neil caught onto him and let somebody know where they would be today.”

Allison nodded slowly. “So you’re suggesting we go in there and get that little asshole back?”

“What other choice do we have?”

“Agreed. We shouldn’t just waltz right in the front doors of the place though. There’s gotta be a sneaky way in. I’ve been there once before, the inside is crazy fancy, but there’s nothing particularly criminal out in the open,” Allison said, starting back towards the wharf. “I bet we if we poke around we can find another way inside.”

They were really doing this, Renee thought, amazed with herself, as The Castle came into brilliant view further down the wharf. She hadn’t woken up this morning prepared to break into the stronghold of an elite Independence family, but that was the way her night was turning out. She reached into one of her pockets, lightly gripping the handle of one knife. Trying to be as non-lethal as possible was normally what Renee aimed for, but since so much was at stake, tonight she would be aiming for hearts and throats only. Whatever happened from here on out was Morning Renee’s problem.

There appeared to be several bouncers waiting near the main entrance of the club. Spotting them, Renee tugged Allison behind a parked car, waiting until they were looking the other way to slip into the alley directly alongside the club. It was brightly lit for an alley, lights hanging from the wall of the building leaving little shadow for the two to hide in. “Maybe I should scout ahead?” Allison peered around, down the other end of the alley, trying to get a glimpse of the club’s rear. “Men tend to trust me for some stupid reason. I could take a guard or two by surprise.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll just wait here, if you need me help just… call for me, alright?” Renee tried to wedge herself in the tiniest sliver of shadow created by the overhang of a windowsill. 

“Obviously.” Allison quickly bent down to kiss her cheek before striding quickly to the end of the alley and disappearing around the corner.

It only took a few moments for the soft scuffling sounds of a struggle to echo down the alley walls, and even shorter than that for silence to fall again. Allison poked her head around the corner, waving quickly for Renee to join her. At the club’s rear, an oak-panelled door now stood unguarded, two men in Moriyama black suits laying sprawled on the pavement. “Can you hide them? One of them bled on me.” Allison sighed, busying herself with wiping one set of brass knuckles clean with a handkerchief.

Renee smiled to herself. Charming as always. She grabbed the men, dragging them behind a nearby pile of cement bricks, hog-tying them with their ties and shoving their pocket squares in their mouths. Even if they were unconscious for now, it didn’t mean they were going to stay that way, and she wanted to delay any alarm they might raise for as long as possible. Meanwhile, Allison edged towards the doorknob. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Renee nodded, brushing her hands on her pants and joining Allison in the cold, barren stairwell beyond the door. There were a number of electric lights on the sloping walls, but the fact that those walls had been painted black made for a claustrophobic, tense atmosphere. She supposed that had been what the designers were going for.

As the stairs descended, the air grew cooler. Doors would occasionally line the wall, but Renee was wary of testing any of them. She didn’t want to run headfirst into a fight she didn’t know she could win. After several minutes, the stairs turned sharply to the left, depositing Renee and Allison on level ground. From there the hall made a T, one path to the left and the right. Both were relatively silent.

“We have a fifty-fifty chance of getting something right,” Allison looked back and forth, as though she were waiting to cross the street, “why don’t we just pick a random path and see what’s down it?”

That made enough sense. Renee pressed her lips together, choosing the left-hand path. She moved quickly and quietly, not wanting to drown out the sounds of approaching footsteps with her own movements. The hall was relatively short, ending in a very dim lounge area, furnished with several black velvet couches, a pool table and a crystal liquor cabinet. It was so dark inside that Renee barely spotted the figures of two men sitting on one of the couches. She froze in the hallway, holding her breath and slowly sinking to a crouch. They were facing away from her, so maybe if she moved slowly she could sneak up on them…

Allison crouched down beside her, and together they strained their ears to listen.

One of the men had a subtle European accent. “It’s a shame they got caught. There was no way you could convince Riko to wait?”

The other man appeared to shake his head. “No. You know how he is, he just decides to do things, and I’m expected to come along.”

“What if we just let them out?”

“And risk our own positions? We’re playing a long game, Moreau. Losing the detective to the mini Butcher means nothing in the long run. If Tetsuji thinks we had anything to do with them, you know we’ll end up on the other end of the cleaver too.” His voice as soft but bitter. It was clear to Renee that he was referring to Andrew. She twisted to look Allison in the eyes, nodding towards the men. They had to know where Andrew was, so the logical thing was to make them talk.

Sliding a knife into both hands, Renee darted behind the couch, crossing the blades just under the accented man’s chin. “Both of you. Keep quiet.” She said softly, looking to the other man. “You tell me where you’re keeping the private eye, and do it calmly or your friend here never says anything to anyone ever again.”

It took Renee a moment or two, but she recognized the second man. Kevin Day stared, wide-eyed, at the knives, then at Renee, then at Allison, who had followed Renee in. The man Renee was holding hostage swallowed, the knives digging into his throat a little as he did. He muttered something in French, to which Kevin raised both eyebrows but nodded. “We’ll help you. But your companion needs to knock us out afterwards. Create the illusion of a struggle.”

Kevin Day was one of the original King’s Men. Riko Moriyama’s confidant and closest companion. Why would he be doing this? It seemed too good to be true. But it was a lead. Renee sighed. “I’ll bite. Tell us where he is and how to get there.”

Slowly, Kevin removed a key ring from his pocket and handed it over to Allison. “He’s further up, in the stairwell. Fourth door on your left. You might want to tie us up as well, make it more realistic. And just to warn you, the Butcher’s son is with him.”

“That’s all I need,” Renee stood, taking the knives away from the man’s throat before beckoning Allison closer. Allison removed her brass knuckles, quickly striking both men on the neck, first Kevin then the other. When they had both slumped to the velvet, Renee busied herself making small wounds on their necks and faces. If they didn’t want to be caught helping, it would look good if the fight they supposedly had was bloody. Together, Renee and Allison dragged him to the floor, laying them down on the black tile and binding their wrists with their ties. Feeling it wasn’t quite enough, Renee also laid a few decorative tables on their side, tilting the couch the men had been sitting on so its back rested on the floor. Better.

“We should move,” Allison looked nervously down the hall, “this place is like a rat maze, someone will find this before long. Let’s get Andrew and get the hell out.”

Renee couldn’t agree more. Backtracking up the stairs, she counted off doors until they had reached the fourth one on the left, she and Allison trying several keys on the lock before finding the right one. “Those fuckers better hope they didn’t lie to us,” Allison muttered, before turning the knob and stepping inside.

The room was surprisingly bare compared with the rest of The Castle, blank grey concrete surfaces and dangling yellow light-bulbs giving the space a hollow atmosphere. In the middle of the room, cuffed back to back in simple wooden chairs, sat Andrew and Neil, the latter laying his head backwards on Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew’s eyes had been closed, but the moment Allison entered they snapped open, betraying a look of complete confusion. “This is some kind of sick joke, right?”

Renee shushed him, dashing over to try the smaller keys on the handcuffs. “Of course not, we’re here to get you out!”

“And Neil too.” Andrew said, resolutely. “This had nothing to do with him. He’s on our side. Don’t question me.”

Neil looked up at Renee, who still held the keys to his cuffs. There was an exhausted, yet resolute expression on his face. This was not the same man as before. “You don’t have to trust me. I know it’s probably hard.”

“But you will let him out.” Andrew’s words were biting. If Renee couldn’t trust Andrew, then who could she rely on? After a few seconds of thought she nodded, freeing Neil from his restraints as well. There was one other piece of furniture in the room, a shabby table in the corner nearest the door, which was evidently littered with Andrew’s things. He made quick work of shoving them back into his pockets, sliding the sheathes to his knives back up his sleeves. Renee subtly tossed the knives she took from his room back onto the table. She didn’t need them anymore. She would fight with her gun or her fists, or nothing at all.

Neil, meanwhile, brushed himself off and rubbed the hard red lines on his wrists. He looked anxiously between Allison and Renee. “We have to get out of here fast. I don’t know what you did to get in here but odds are they already know about it. I know somewhere we can hide, but we have to run.”

Renee sighed heavily. It was going to be a long, long night. But this was the hill Andrew had chosen to die on. So it was the hill the Fleet Foxes would fight on together. “Lead the way, Neil. Don’t make us regret this.”


	12. If It Ain't Got That Swing

March 28th, 1933  
Three in the morning  
The North End  
Boston, Independence

Andrew was both relieved and, strangely, insulted. He and Neil could have fought their way out one way or another. They hadn’t needed a grand rescue. But why look a gift horse in the mouth? Renee and Allison had rescued them, and he wasn’t about to be completely ungrateful. He took the stairs two at a time now, his calves aching slightly at the effort after having spent the past several hours chained to a chair. Neil climbed the stairs just ahead of him, and Andrew couldn’t help but watch his back, the fabric of Neil’s shirt shifting with every step.

Andrew wanted to form a coherent thought about Neil. Behind the urgency of the situation, new feelings about Neil rose and fell in the back of Andrew’s mind. If he tried to focus on them and make them into a coherent opinion, they scattered instantly, leaving his train of thought skidding off the rails. He could reassess how he felt about Neil later, when they were safe.

Below, the sound of raised voices chased them up the stairwell. “Fuck,” Neil muttered, “someone noticed.”

“We’re almost there!” Renee squirmed past them, throwing open the door back into the hot nighttime air.

A silhouette filled the doorway the instant Renee flung it open, black against the blue and yellow night. “I thought you might find a way out.” Riko Moriyama stepped across Renee’s path, holding his cane out to block her. “It just struck me it might be safe to wait around. What a daring escape you all might have had if I didn’t?”

At the sight of Riko’s awful, smug face Andrew felt a wave of revulsion so strong pass through him that a hot flash crawled over his skin. But before he could do or say anything, Neil moved faster, grabbing Riko fiercely by the collar and punching him in the jaw so hard that he fell back on the asphalt. The skin of Riko’s cheek was broken, a smear of blood flashing on Neil’s gold ring. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Fuck you, stay down and leave us alone.” Neil spat down at the dazed Riko, grabbing Andrew’s hand and pulling him away so fast Andrew thought he might have whiplash.

But goddamn if that hadn’t been the hottest thing Andrew had seen in a long time. More than watching Neil sing or dance, that had gotten Andrew’s heart beating in a frankly embarrassing way. Maybe he could form a somewhat coherent opinion of Neil now; he was still incredibly attractive, even with some of the softness of his feigned personality pulled away. Was his authenticity even more attractive than the Neil he had been playing earlier?

He couldn’t think about it. The Victoria was, blessedly, where Andrew had left it. Leaping into the driver’s seat, he caught his breath for a moment, waiting for the others to join him. Neil, predictably, slid into the passenger’s seat. Andrew wanted to stop, to look at him, see what had changed in his face and weigh the details, but there was no time. “Give me directions and I’ll follow them.”

In the corner of his eye, he caught Neil nodding. “Right. For now just try to get as far away from here as you can, but head towards Cambridge. Matt and Dan live there, we’ll be safe with them for now.”

For a handful of tense minutes Andrew sped through the streets of the North End, barrelling around corners in hopes of losing anyone who might have followed their escape. After weaving through enough sharp turns he didn’t slow the Victoria, but allowed himself to breathe, take a bit of the edge off.

In the backseat, Allison broke the silence. “Andrew, usually I trust your sense of style, but boat shoes? What the hell were you thinking? Those don’t work for you at all.” Beside her, Renee began to laugh, softly but helplessly. Even Neil managed a small snort.

“Listen, we all know my usual looks wouldn’t work at all on a boat. What the hell was I supposed to do?” Andrew sighed, more relieved than annoyed. “I think they might be Aaron’s. I don’t remember how I even got them.” 

That sparked more laughter from the backseat but a gentle reproachful noise from Neil. “Hey, what he puts on his feet is his business, I don’t think they’re so bad.”

“How are any of us supposed to trust you if the first thing you say when we release you from captivity is awful?” Allison teased, poking her knee into the back of his seat. “We’re going to talk about this. Later. When we’re in the clear.”

“The punch was neat though,” Renee added, “I was a fan.”

“Really?” Andrew could separate the strains of emotion in Neil’s voice, the nervous waver and the new bitter undercurrent that outlined his every word and the hopeful lilt to his question. Neil wanted this to mean something, wanted to be trusted. That was enough.

“Really.” Renee affirmed, reaching between the front seats to gently pat Neil’s shoulder.

With Andrew keeping his foot pressed firmly to the gas and the occasional direction from Neil, the blackness of the city and the Charles River sped past in a blur of shadows. They could have been driving on the bottom of the Mariana Trench, crushed by pressure and cold. “Neil, light me a cigarette.” Andrew said, keeping his eyes on the twisting dark pavement stretching out before the Victoria’s headlamps. “I put them in my right pocket.” He held still as Neil quickly dug through the contents of the pocket, finding both lighter and cigarette, holding the stick between his own lips to light it before passing it to Andrew.

Yes, there was light at the bottom of the ocean, in the flickering angler fish glow, orange ember hanging from the end of Andrew’s cigarette. He and Neil had been each other’s bait, and they had both been misled. Perhaps now Neil Abram Josten could reveal his own secrets. He and Andrew could be on the same side when the sunrise came.

“Here!” Neil pointed to a simple brownstone outside the window. “I’ll go knock, I think they’d lose their minds if anyone else woke them up at this time of night.”

Andrew brought the Victoria to a screeching halt, leaving Neil to hop out the door and dash up to the front stoop of the house. Renee watched him go, making a small humming sound. “We are going to have to talk to him,” Renee murmured, “I know that once you make up your mind about a person I can’t change it, but I just need to feel safe having him here. Does that make sense?”

“On one level yes. On another, what I think you don’t understand is that I know a lot more about him already than you. Don’t push him. He’s my responsibility.” Andrew took a deep drag, letting the car fill with smoke out of spite. Yellow light spilled from the brownstone onto the very small lawn as someone opened the door, the sound of voices carrying down into the car. It seemed Neil had gotten their attention.

Andrew hopped out of the car, motioning for Renee and Allison to follow him as he headed to the door. Matt had answered the door, wearing blue and white pinstripe pajamas. Andrew could have made himself two sets of clothes with the same amount of fabric covering Matt’s towering frame. When Matt turned his attention to Andrew, he gave a small smile. “Good to see you made it out okay. You know, Neil didn’t want Dan and I to tell you his plan at the banquet, but we got pretty close. I still think it would’ve been better if you both knew what side you were on earlier. But still, glad you figured something out.”

“Can we come inside? They’re probably already looking for us.” Neil asked, reflexively looking over his shoulder at the street.

“Sure, for a bit. But first of all, this is a no smoking house. Second of all, I think you and the detectives should consider leaving Boston for a little while. Dan and I know a couple of secure places you could lie low for a few days, come up with a plan. Once things have blown over a little you could come back and finish what you started once and for all.”

Andrew dropped his cigarette wordlessly, putting it out with his heel before stepping across the threshold. Leave the city? Now? That would depend on how much he could trust Matt and Dan, two people he barely knew, to provide them with accurate information on where was truly safe. It would also mean that he would need to backtrack, to get his medication from Aaron. He wasn’t going to miss doses, even in an apparent emergency like this. Neil seemed to have a similar idea as Matt herded the four of them into a small but cozy parlor. “I would go anywhere, as long as I’m not running for long. But how can I ask anyone else to come with me?”

Renee and Allison looked together towards Neil, and Andrew could tell they were doing what they loved best: formulating the best way to take a hopeless case under their wing. “We’re just as serious about bringing your father to justice as anyone,” Renee said, “and if going into hiding for a few days will help, we’re willing to try it. Andrew?”

It was distinctly uncomfortable to suddenly have four pairs of eyes on him. Andrew shoved both his hands into the pockets of his stupid shorts. “I’ll need to get some things. But if I have enough reason to believe this will work, I’ll do it.”

Matt nodded. “Alright. I’m gonna go wake Dan up, I’ll be a few minutes. Everybody make yourselves comfortable.” He disappeared back into the hallway, the sound of creaking footsteps on the wooden floor trailing after him.

Andrew settled on taking a seat on one of the couches, pulling Neil down by the cuff of his shirt-sleeve to sit next to him. “Who are these people really? How do you know them? Tell me everything or I won’t go with you.” How was he going to be expected to trust Matt or Dan if he didn’t know what they really stood for?

For a few moments Andrew watched Neil’s chest rise and fall, cheek tight as he ground his teeth. Of course this was going to be hard for him. Andrew wouldn’t have expected otherwise. Finally, he began to speak. “Matt and Dan work for the Trojans. My mother put me in contact with their parents when I was younger, in case anything happened to her. So here I am. They have connections in the Moriyama family too, so they pass information to the Trojans. Especially Jeremy Knox and his people. They all want the Moriyamas taken out of power, even more than I do. I trust them.”

“Trojans.” Andrew nodded. “I didn’t really expect that, but I can work with it. I don’t have anything in particular against them. I have one more question for now, and then we can wait until we’re out of harm’s way before I start shaking you down for more. Because believe me Josten, we aren’t done here. What role did you have in your father’s business?”

More silence, Neil’s blue eyes growing colder and more distant, almost freezing over. “I did what he asked me to do. Despite everything. Yes, I’ve killed. But I haven’t done it without questioning. There were things at risk. And I can tell you I hated every second. Is that enough, Andrew?”

Who hadn’t killed? Andrew was guilty in his own way of more things than he could admit. Stories too big for this tiny parlor. “It’s enough.” He wanted to do something more. To reassure Neil in some way, make the exchange tangible. Lifting a hand, he let it hover over Neil’s thigh. Neil met him halfway, bringing Andrew’s hand down to rest just above his knee. Andrew imagined he could feel Neil’s heartbeat through the fabric of his pants. And it was enough.

Dan stepped into the room, carrying with her an aura of dominance in silk men’s pajamas and socks. “Neil, what did I tell you?” She sighed, crossing her arms and frowning in only the way a disappointed mother could.

“That I should’ve come clean at the banquet…” Neil muttered, averting his eyes. “Do you have my medicine? If we’re leaving I need to take it with me.”

Renee and Allison both appeared surprised, turning to Andrew. Andrew did his best not to respond. If they were catching on that he and Neil were that similar, what did it matter? Neil hadn’t told them explicitly, so he wasn’t going to elaborate any further.

“I have it. And I have directions for you and the Fleet Foxes.” Dan sat down across from them, picking up a notepad and pen from the coffee table. “I’ll make it as specific as I can, I don’t need you getting lost. Come back when you know you can get the Butcher out of the picture, and only then.”

Neil nodded, an absolutely grave expression on his face, and Andrew felt the muscle of his thigh tense beneath his palm. “I won’t fuck up this time. I promise.”

“Alright.” Dan began to write, her handwriting large but neat. “I’m giving you directions to a commune to the northeast. You’ll need to hitch a train ride for part of the way, the next one will pass through Charlestown in a couple of hours. I know the people who run it, they’re decent. They hate the Moriyama’s just as much as we do. It’s a long story. Just follow the directions and you’ll be fine.”

Dan wrote in relative silence for another minute or two before folding the paper and handing it to Neil. “Show this to them. Tell them Matt and I sent you. Is there anything else you need before you go?”

Andrew sighed. “Your phone. I need to call my brother.”


	13. After You've Gone

March 28th, 1933  
Four in the morning  
Massachusetts General Hospital  
Boston, Independence

Aaron Minyard looked exhausted as he opened the doors leading off the waiting room. His expression changed rapidly to bewilderment as he took in the number of people expecting him, and finally anger as he realized Neil was among them. “That,” he said flatly, pointing at Neil but staring Andrew down, “is the Butcher’s Son. What the hell did I tell you? Why did you bring him here?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Andrew stepped closer to his brother, blocking his view of Neil. “We’re not here because of him.” That didn’t feel like a lie somehow. They were here because of Neil’s father. Neil was just collateral. “I’m here because we’re leaving the city for a week or two, and I’m going to take my medication with me.”

Aaron practically seethed, pulling his extended hand back and clenching it so hard his knuckles turned white. “Why? With him? Renee, Allison, you can’t tell me you think this is okay. I need the full goddamn story or nobody goes anywhere. You can’t get me on the phone telling me you have an emergency at three am, hang up, and then try and act like you’re going on a fucking vacation.”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that.” Renee crossed her arms, looking somewhat helpless in the face of what was probably going to be a legendary argument. At least from what Andrew could sense. He and Aaron were no strangers to fighting, but Andrew had a feeling this one would be an argument to remember. “Come on,” Renee pushed on, trying valiantly to infuse some calm into their stand-off, “let’s all just calm down for a minute. He would tell you everything if he could Aaron, you know that.”

It was always eerie for Andrew to see his twin’s anger reflected in eyes that so resembled his own. “No he wouldn’t, he never has. Not before the Crash, not after. He can pretend to, but there’s always something else, a detail he conveniently leaves out. Maybe you don’t even know you’re doing it, but you are.” Aaron spat at him, hazel eyes dark with rage. This had been a long time coming, Andrew realized. Tonight was just the excuse Aaron needed to let it out.

Andrew took a moment to stabilize his breathing, to let the pop of blood rushing in his ears fall a few decibels short of deafening. He couldn’t fight back now. There was too much on the line to waste time with this. Still keeping himself between Aaron and Neil, Andrew took a few steps closer, fighting his urge to grab his twin by the front of his wrinkled white coat. “Maybe I wouldn’t tell you anything. But I swear I’ve had my reasons,” Andrew grit his teeth, keeping his voice low and serious, “and when all of this is over, when the dust clears, I’ll tell you exactly what is going on. You never had a reason to doubt me before the Crash. I pulled us through.” Why bother keeping all this secret from Neil? Andrew couldn’t tell Neil his and Aaron’s life story, but there was no use intentionally hiding any details.

Aaron stared him down, chest rising and falling sharply. At his sides, Aaron’s balled hands twitched, and for a moment Andrew’s instincts told him a punch was coming. Allison drew in a hiss of audible breath. Over his shoulder, Andrew sensed Neil moving as well. But there was no punch coming. “Fuck you Andrew,” Aaron clenched his jaw, pressing both hands hard and fast into his eye sockets, “you can’t pull that ‘before the Crash’ shit on me, you know that… You can’t make me… you’re so fucking selfish. Haven’t you ever asked me one goddamn time how it feels to have my only brother keep throwing himself in front of every car on the road? So fucking selfish.”

The words dug in deep, but they were nothing Andrew hadn’t already thought himself, a debate battled away in his own mind. He knew that on some level Aaron did worry for him, but the rewards were always greater than the risks, and at the end of the day Andrew never learned when it came to his own safety. He was self aware enough to recognize that, at the very least. He waited in silence, the room unbearably tense, until Aaron pulled his hands away from his face, eyes red but cheeks dry. “Well?” Aaron asked, some of the bite taken out of his voice. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

It wouldn’t be right to apologize, would it? Andrew had never been very good at that either. “Is it enough to promise you that when this is over this city will be a safer place? Less bodies to scrape off your front lawn. You just have to trust me. Now I need needles and syringes and a bottle of the… y’know, the stuff. We’re wasting time.”

Aaron swallowed, his hands slowly unballing. “This is the last time I trust you on credit.” He replied, defeat in his voice. “Renee, Allison, watch the murderer. He shouldn’t even be in here. I’ll be back in a minute with your hormones.” Aaron’s shoulders were tight as he pushed back through the double doors and out of sight. It was surprising that Aaron hadn’t thrown a single punch. More surprising that Andrew himself hadn’t snapped first.

He turned to get a look at Neil, some of the tightness in his chest unspooling. Neil seemed to be examining the room, taking inventory with his eyes alone. He didn’t seem wounded by Aaron’s assertion that he was a murderer, but he was flighty, his hands twitching and curling at his sides, his lower lip falling victim to his teeth as he chewed it nervously.

Within a few seconds Neil realized that Andrew was watching him. He shot Andrew a weak smile. “It’s alright. He isn’t entirely wrong, I probably shouldn’t be here. Do you two fight a lot? I don’t have any siblings, I can’t imagine what it would even be like.”

“They fight because they’re both stubborn little bastards and they both think they’re always in the right.” Allison added, bluntly. “Even when they’re in the wrong. It’s a force of nature, it just happens. I think it’s because they’re too similar.”

“Would you believe he told me literally nothing about his family? They’re not even gangsters, they’re just people.” Neil chuckled, his smile less anxious now. “At least I had more reasons.”

“I think it’s a miracle he told you anything about himself at all, if we’re being honest. I didn’t even know he was lactose intolerant until I knew him for uh, let’s see, four years?” Allison grinned. “He has more secrets than he knows what to do with. He is kept functioning only by the tension of his own stress.”

Andrew sighed heavily. They weren’t exactly wrong, but it was bullshit that it was so obvious. “You know what I love? When people talk about me like I’m not standing a foot away from them.”

Aaron stepped back through the doors, interrupting any retorts Allison or Neil might have had in store. In his arms he held a paper bag held closed with medical tape. “Just do it like I do. Remember to check for air bubbles.” Aaron held out the bag and Andrew took it with both hands, cradling it like a living thing. Now they could leave. They didn’t need anything else besides what they already had and the clothes on their backs.

“Thank you.” Andrew gave his brother a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be back soon.”

“You better be.” Aaron shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Or I’ll jump a train myself and drag your dumb ass back here. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” Not feeling the need to say anything else more emotional than that, especially not with Renee, Allison and Neil watching him, Andrew turned and headed for the door, back into the purple black miasma of pre-dawn air. “Alright Neil. Let’s go, where is this train we’re supposed to hop?”

“It’s in Charlestown, Dan and Matt gave pretty detailed instructions about it. We should try and aim for the middle boxcars, usually they don’t care about those if they’re empty. If we drive the Victoria up there now, the train should be making its way through in… half an hour? We should hide the car nearby, for when we come back.” Neil gently tapped the folded square of instructions in his front pocket.

With a heavy sigh, Andrew looked down at his boat shoes. He wished he had chosen more suitable footwear for jumping onto a train. Then again, how was he supposed to have planned for that? “Sounds… reasonable.”

It took less than ten minutes to drive to the perfect spot on the tracks, a clear stretch of rail running beside a purgatorial stretch of abandoned lot and hemmed in by a crumbling red brick factory building. Andrew managed to park the Victoria inside the building, heaving a piece of sheet metal against the side to hide it from view. The sky was growing more purple than black, strange lines of red like tongues of fire lapping against the horizon. The world was empty and dream-like, a dollhouse half populated by ghosts and half by the deadness of still hot air. In silence, the four of them squeezed through a second floor window onto a corrugated metal awning and waited for the train to come.

Dawn was a drop of blood in the pool of the heavens, spreading in waves from the horizon, curling fingers of light in the black expanse of smog and stars, dragging itself up from a half-hidden grave just beyond the edge of the world. It happened slowly, then all at once, the sun a blind and cataract-filled eye one moment, the next bursting into full and blinding orange light, a pearl of flame bringing shadows out of the flat ghostly plain of the tall grass in the lot, of the crooked train tracks. There was dimension in the world again. Andrew caught the golden light skim across across Neil’s profile, a revealing and tender glow, so bright that it turned his blue eyes almost clear. The bow of his mouth was shadowed. The makeup that normally shielded his cheeks from view was smudged, and the sunrise lit up scars and burns so deep they seemed to be painted on in crimson.

Neil, predictably, once again caught Andrew looking. “What’s wrong?” Neil asked, cold eyes bathed in a light that made them translucent, and behind them Andrew could read a story he knew so well because he lived it every day of his life. There was a mirror there, twisted but true. He had misjudged Neil, but for all the wrong reasons. This was a story he knew, a set of clues he could trace in the lines of his own palm.

Carefully, Andrew clutched the collar of Neil’s shirt, letting his thumb brush the exposed side of his neck. It didn’t matter that Allison and Renee were watching. The night was over and they both had been through too much. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking about you.” Andrew admitted, tugging gently at Neil’s collar. If this was over, whatever dance they had been doing while Neil was playing dumb, he wanted Neil to have time to pull away, to say no.

Neil did not say no. Curling his hand around Andrew’s he leaned in, his kiss an eclipse blotting out the brilliance of the sun from Andrew’s field of his vision, his lips bitten and dry but still tender.

When they parted, Andrew was horribly aware that his face was hot. A few feet away, Renee was peering over at him with a tiny smile on her lips, a knowing look on her face. So smug.

Andrew sighed, letting his mind slip back to Neil and to the sunrise. Neil leaned his forehead against Andrew’s, drawing his attention back completely. “Thanks.” He sighed, before jerking back up. “The train. I think I can hear it!”

Sure enough, the awning began to shake and rattle gently under Andrew’s feet. Like a gunshot in the quiet morning air, the train’s klaxon horn burst across the vacant lot. Around the corner, the coal engine roared into sight, a black plume of smoke cresting along its back like foam on a curling wave. “Get ready to jump. We’re aiming for the middle.” Andrew steadied himself, watching as the train raced closer and closer, faster than he would’ve thought possible.

Neil took his hand, squeezing it hard. “We’ll go together!” He said, raising his voice to push it over the rumbling of the train. “Count of three! Three! Two! One-”

Andrew leapt first from the ledge, aiming for the back of a simple red boxcar. For an instant, air rushed violently around his ears. He and Neil were suspended alone in space, hung between the awning and the train like a wind chime in a hurricane. Then his feet made contact with the roof of the train, impact jarring him up to his knees, his wrist wrenching as he and Neil stumbled forward at opposing angles. The pressure was almost enough to pull his hand from Neil’s but he gripped harder, falling to his knees but keeping his hold on the other man.

They had made it, he realized, a little dizzy, once the rush of jumping had run its course through his body. Renee and Allison had jumped as well, two cars behind them. “We better get inside, I think these cars are open!” Neil called to them. “If there’s a tunnel we’ll get knocked off!”

Andrew lingered on the roof of the car for a few moments longer than he should, letting the dawn warm him down to the tips of his fingers. Behind him, Boston receded on the horizon, all its people and lights disappearing down into memory. 

“Andrew? You coming?” Neil leaned out from the inside of the car, beckoning him. Carefully, Andrew slid down, swinging himself into the shade of the boxcar and into a different kind of light.


	14. Moon River

March 28th, 1933  
Nine thirteen in the morning  
A boxcar on a Coal Engine  
Northern Coastline, Independence

In one corner of the boxcar, Renee and Allison napped together. Allison had propped herself up in the corner, her arms folded protectively around Renee, who was slumped over with her head on the other woman’s chest. As the car clattered along down the rails they slept remarkably peacefully, the various bumps and jolts of the train nowhere near disturbing enough to break them from their well-earned slumber.

Andrew, meanwhile, could not sleep. He would never have earned a medal for sleeping on the best of days. There was too much running through his mind for him to ignore his mind and even pretend to rest. He was beyond being wired, in a space where his brain was on but not engaged, his body worn out but unable to rest. So he sat on the edge of the box car, his feet dangling out into the rushing wind, Neil sitting beside him in silence.

The world was much bigger out here, Andrew thought. The wind would take his words and throw them, uncaring, into the pine forests the train pushed through now. He watched quietly as the orange sunlight crept up the side of otherwise shadowed tree trunks, painting them a soft gold, a dream-like color, a reverie. He weighed his words carefully on his tongue. Only the ones that needed to be said, he promised himself. He wanted the real Neil to know the real Andrew, and maybe it was possible out here.

“Neil, are you listening?” He turned, catching Neil staring out at the trees, his eyes hard and distant. Neil jumped slightly, seemingly surprised that he was not alone, but nodded anyway.

“I will not tell you everything. But I will tell you the truth.” Andrew sighed, turning back to the blur of shadows and evergreen needles streaked with the sun beams. “Before the Crash I did something that would have been unforgivable then. To a lot of people. I have had a very long and very confusing life. Once I was given up for adoption. Years later, mine and Aaron’s mother found me again. I couldn’t be the daughter she wanted. Aaron couldn’t be perfect for her either. I didn’t want to go to college, but it was a way out of that house. We were prisoners there in a way. We had… possessions, sure. But it never felt real. She was never my mother.”

Andrew couldn’t tell Neil about his life in the orphanage. Couldn’t describe the years of struggling upwards like grass through a sidewalk crack. The abuses of the older children, the way he would hide boy’s clothes in his room to hold at night and imagine wearing, the pain and fear and weariness of a life always staying one step ahead of a cane swung by a nun, the cold grip of an older boy’s hand like a tattoo on his shoulder. When Aaron’s mother came for him, it was a relief, but only for a moment. He just had to put on a different mask. But he could never take the disguises away altogether.

“But it wasn’t an escape for long. She would hit my brother, enable him, give him drugs and alcohol to make him stay. Every time we visited home it was the same. I couldn’t take it anymore.” Andrew paused, letting the woods glaze over as he looked past them, an indescribable shape. “One night in October in 1929, she hit Aaron so hard he broke ribs. I didn’t know what else to do. I fought back when Aaron wouldn’t. And I killed her.”

Andrew snuck a glance back at Neil to gauge his reaction. Neil’s face was patient, attentive even. No sign of disgust or surprise. “I didn’t do a very good job of hiding it though. Neighbors heard us fighting. I didn’t have it in me to run. I was arrested, put in jail. And that’s where I woke up on the morning of October 29th, in a jail cell waiting for my arraignment.”

“There was a woman in there with me, already awake. I was hungover, so it took me a few minutes to get up, but she was behind me in the cell. She waited until I noticed her and then she smiled at me, like she’d never been so happy to see anyone before. ‘Hear that?’ she asked. ‘Listen.’ And I listened, and outside I could hear the world ending.

“Cars honking, gunshots, yelling. There were no guards in the jail. It was quiet inside and insane outside. She stood up once she was sure I had heard what she did, offered me her hand. ‘Come on, let me help you up,’ she said, ‘We’ll get out of this together.’ And we did. And we still are.”

Neil looked over his shoulder, back at the sleeping Renee. “That’s really how you met?” He let out a soft laugh. “I can’t imagine her doing anything that would land her in jail.”

“Renee Walker is a lot of things. She has a long past behind her, just like me, just like you, just like Allison.” Andrew reached compulsively for a cigarette. “So that’s me. That’s the story of the Fleet Foxes. Now you go.”

Neil swallowed, looking back out at the world beyond the boxcar. The forest was thinning out, interspersed by wetland, puddles forming around the roots of the trees, reeds waving in the rush of air displaced by the train as it rushed past. “Give me a minute. I don’t think I can tell everything either. Being honest…”

“I get it. You don’t have much practice.” Andrew shrugged. “Take your time.”

Neil held out his hand and wordlessly, Andrew passed his cigarette over. As usual, Neil didn’t put it to his lips, but held it carefully like a weapon, rolling it slightly between his scarred fingers. “I was born a Wesninski. My father didn’t care what my first name was going to be, only my last. He wanted me to be like him. Merciless and precise. Some of my first memories are of learning how to use a knife.” Neil said quietly, looking through the stream of smoke leaving the cigarette to a place Andrew could not follow him.

“Before the Crash, things were simpler. We had to hide our activities to some extent. My father was always a tool of the Moriyama’s, but there was accountability. Sometimes life was even normal. I went to school, because my mother wanted me to. I could make friends. Once or twice I tried to run away, but it was half-hearted. I was my father’s son, but I was also still a person. But after the Crash, my father knew his time had come to rise up with the Moriyama family. There could be no limit to his cruelty. He lost whatever pieces of his mind he still had.

“That Spring, my mother finally decided she had enough. She didn’t want to watch me become him completely. One night I got home after… I think it was my third or fourth time carrying out my father’s orders on my own, and she was waiting for me with a bag of my things. We made it to Cape Cod before my father caught up with us.” Neil fell silent, taking a few breaths to let the hint of emotion in his voice dissipate. “It was sunset. She always loved the ocean. She was cruel sometimes, but she still looked out for me in her own way. It was wrong of my father to kill her in the place she loved the best. He made me burn her body and let the waves take it away. Said we didn’t need her any more than a soldier needed a wounded limb. Amputation was the best option.”

“So you had to keep being Nathaniel.” Andrew let his hand rest gently on Neil’s leg. “Or risk being amputated yourself.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I tried even harder to get away after that.” Neil sighed. “But it’s hard to run in a nightmare. Dream-logic. I would try and move faster and he would catch me faster. I think I was getting predictable. That’s why I lied to you. I thought maybe someone else could catch him first. And you seemed to really like the other Neil. I can’t be that man all the time. I’m not… I’m not a happy person.”

“You don’t have to be happy. I like you just the same.” There was more to it than that, but Andrew knew in trying to articulate he would make a fool of himself. “No one is perfect. I just need you honest.”

“She taught me how to sing. My mother.” Neil murmured. “She could be so hard. But sometimes I would catch her singing in the office while she did her work. And I would crawl under the desk to listen to her. Of course she noticed me. I wasn’t invisible. Instead of yelling at me she let me sit on her lap and learn the words to the song. I never stopped trying to chase that feeling. When I sing I’m someone else, too.”

Andrew slowly let his head slide down to rest against Neil’s shoulder. “Then sing. Be that person too. It’s still you.”

Neil’s voice was so much softer without a microphone to amplify it or a band to let the sound carry, but even over the rattling of the train it captured Andrew’s attention completely. _Moon river, wider than a mile_ he sang, every vowel and consonant finding its wavering path out into the world, _I’m crossing you in style some day_. Andrew closed his eyes. He still wasn’t ready to sleep, but he could let the sound wash over him. _Oh, dream-maker, you heart-breaker_ Neil took a breath, words flowing out more steadily, _Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way_.

Andrew let Neil get through half the song before opening his eyes again to peer up at Neil’s face. He was still brittle, but the music changed him too, the corners of his mouth soft and his forehead smooth. This Neil wouldn’t shatter into a million pieces if he was pushed. Andrew felt something drop in his chest. This was more than the attraction he felt before, when they were just trying to play their cards right. This was something new, and it horrified Andrew as much as it comforted him.

When Neil had finished the song, Andrew filled the silence by letting his hand find Neil’s, sliding their fingers together and lacing them tight. He couldn’t say anything that would properly convey what he felt, so he said nothing. Maybe he could try to rest now. He let his eyes close again, trying to even out his breathing. He could feel the warmth of Neil’s shoulder against him, and it was right.

After several minutes letting the train and Neil’s warmth lull Andrew into a half-sleep, Neil turned, pressing a kiss to Andrew’s forehead, a brush of his lips so soft it could have been the wing of a passing moth just trying to get closer to the light. “Sweet dreams.” He said, so quietly Andrew was sure he imagined it.

Andrew didn’t know if he slept or not. The rocking of the train and the security of Neil’s closeness made everything a warm blur. He didn’t know how much time they spent like that, curled into each other in the aftermath of the night.

He was roused by the sound of Allison’s heels on the hard floor of the box car, the noise almost as loud and sudden as gunshots. He would have been more startled if his hand wasn’t still sewn up against Neil’s. It really was the small things that could be most reassuring, he thought, disoriented, as he sat back upright. “What’s going on?”

“According to my instructions we should jump off soon.” Neil explained, helping Andrew to his feet. Renee and Allison were mostly recovered from their own nap, aside from the multiple cowlicks that had sprung up on the back of Renee’s head.

Renee gave Andrew a knowing look. “You didn’t get very much sleep, did you? No, don’t answer, I am well aware of your habits. You and Neil are just two insomniacs in a pod I see.”

Andrew chose not to rise to the jab, if it even was one. He did have a habit of getting defensive about things that weren’t technically insults. Outside, thin stands of leafless birch trees rushed past, a strange contrast to the high temperatures. Pools of boggy wetland spaced out the groves, skunk cabbages and queen anne’s lace finding purchase on damp tussocks of sawgrass. Andrew scanned the scenery for any signs of life. Somewhere, a mourning dove was cooing. Faintly, but getting stronger, the scent of salty bay water pervaded the air.

After the Crash, untold numbers of Bostonians took to the wind. In a world that seemed lawless, the best thing to do was to spread out, claim land, start over. Even though the families of Independence technically controlled all the land between what used to be Rhode Island and Bar Harbor, the reality was that most of their power remained concentrated in the cities. All the rest of the space was either re-learning to be wild, or had been taken up by one group of survivors or another, looking to create a new society. This had varying degrees of success.

All told, Andrew was entirely unsure what to look for. He wanted to believe he was supposed to be expecting a reasonable settlement, with buildings and regular people. He did want to trust that Neil’s faith in his friends’ instructions would pay off. But some of the things he had heard about communes, despite how rare the horror stories were, led him to doubt. He just hoped they weren’t walking into a disaster.

“Can you read that? The sign?” Neil waved for Andrew’s attention, squinting into the distance along the rails. “I can’t see that far away.”

Andrew leaned a bit further out of the boxcar, peering downhill at a large, ivy-covered sign facing the train. The trees were thinned around it, revealing the cracking face of long-forgotten blacktop. “Luxury Beach Houses…” Andrew muttered slowly, the motion of the train and the distance of the sign turning the words into a fuzzy smear. “Luxury Beach Houses for Sale, Palm Meadow Development… I’m pretty sure that’s what it says.”

“Alright, we’re supposed to get off there.” Neil looked around the boxcar, as though making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “I’m ready.”

“Should we try aiming for the swamp?” Renee frowned, looking down the rails at the sign, which was now rapidly approaching. “It doesn’t seem great to land on that asphalt. I’d like to enjoy my two unbroken ankles for as long as possible.”

Allison made a face. “I see your point, but if you think I’m getting in a swamp, babe…”

“Maybe just jump wherever looks like the softest?” Andrew readied himself as the sign drew near. The blacktop was somewhat more broken near the tracks, mixing with sand and mud in an apron of gravel. He would try to aim for that, but with his limited experience jumping onto and off of moving trains, Andrew didn’t feel excellent about his odds.

Well, there was no use prolonging it. He would have to jump sometime. The train wasn’t going terribly fast, he would probably be okay. As the train passed the sign, Andrew launched himself towards the sandy belt, attempting to tuck and roll. Instantly two things were clear; the ground had been mostly mud, and that his feet suddenly felt very cold. Turning over in the muck, he attempted to stand, to find his suspicions confirmed. He had, in fact, jumped right out of his boat shoes. Which were now headed away from him, still on the boxcar.

Andrew sighed heavily. Good riddance. The others had made it safely to the ground as well, Allison having thrown her purse to safety in a grassy tussock before making the jump herself. It was a good bit of foresight, Andrew thought, especially considering she was holding onto both his and Neil’s medication for the time being. And everyone else had their shoes.

“Nobody say anything.” Andrew warned, brushing some of the sediment off his very wrinkled shirt. “Nothing.”

Neil looked down at Andrew’s shoeless feet, took a breath for composure and nodded solemnly. “Point taken. I’m sure if, hypothetically, someone needed new shoes, our final destination will have some. Now my instructions just say to walk down the road, and if we see anybody to tell them Matt and Dan sent us.”

Within a minute of walking, Andrew had already begun to miss the awful boat shoes. Walking on hot asphalt was unsurprisingly uncomfortable. Unwilling to let anyone have the satisfaction of seeing him uncomfortable, he soldiered on, trying to imagine how equally painful it must be for Allison to be walking around on uneven ground in stilettos.

The broken road turned sharply, and there, in a long slope leading down to a marsh of sand and tide pools, were two rows of twenty beach houses, ten on each side. They were tired, slumping into the damp earth, but there was a perseverance in the way their chipped brightly colored coats of paint glowed in the midday sun. A long row of clothes drying in the heat flapped a greeting at the four of them as the homes came into sight.

Andrew spent too long taking in the sight, evidently, because a sudden voice surprised him. “Hands up, come on! Get em where I can fucking see em.” A rough older man’s voice burst from the porch of the closest house, and it only took a moment for Andrew to realize the muzzle of a gun was trained on him. Slowly he pulled his hands up, uncurling them so the man could see his palms were empty. 

In the shade of the porch, only the gun and the intricate tattoos curling up the man’s arms were sharply visible. “Good. Now one of you, and I mean one of you, do not talk over each other, tell me exactly why you’re here. I’m waiting.”


	15. And One More For The Road

March 29th, 1933  
Five minutes to noon  
Palm Meadow Commune  
Northern Coastline, Independence

It was an extraordinary relief to wake up and get dressed in familiar clothes; a dress shirt, slacks, and real shoes. Andrew wasn’t entirely sure what time it was, but as he pulled himself out of the quaint little wooden bed he had crashed in the day before, he was certain he had been asleep for a long, long while. 

The wood floor creaked gently beneath Andrew’s feet as he paced a slow circle around the space. He was surprised the commune leaders had really left them to their own devices, even if he didn’t entirely trust this place yet. Taking a moment to pause in front of the lone window, pushing aside scratchy curtains to reveal gentle grey rain, Andrew tried to recount the details of their conversation.

The founders of the commune, David Wymack and Abby Winfield, had listened impatiently to Neil’s story before using a battered looking radio to tune in to Matt’s radio station frequency and confirm. Several other families had emerged from their homes to watch the confrontation. From what he saw, Andrew could guess the population of the commune numbered to about 60 people, which was nothing to sneeze at. Once they were cleared, David and Abby allowed the four of them into their home, the largest beach house on the strip. Andrew had been permitted to clean off to the best of his ability in their wash basin, since there was a distinct lack of running water. Also Abby had procured clothes that, by some miracle, fit him.

Their discussion had been brief, but from what he recalled, Andrew had formed proper opinions on both Wymack and Winfield. The former was fond of acting tough, crossing his arms and yelling giving cross looks, but in spite of that he seemed to care deeply about the community he had created. The latter was gentler, more nurturing, but where her counterpart was secretly softer than he let on, she was equally as defensive of her home. Both had close ties with the Trojans, and during their talk Andrew vaguely remembered Abby mentioning that they had opposed the Moriyamas even before the Crash in their own way.

Andrew slid the curtains closed again, and somehow the small room was even darker than before. Where were Renee and Allison? Or Neil, for that matter. Wymack had seemed baffled by Neil’s presence, but not particularly angry, especially once he had spoken to Matt on the radio. Still, Andrew’s paranoia wouldn’t let him discount the worry that the commune leaders had done something to Neil while he slept.

He was going to have to look for Neil, or else he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying about it. Leaving the small bedroom, Andrew found himself in a dimly lit hallway, a faint grey rectangle throwing itself up the stairs to form a guiding carpet. It was quiet, aside from the rain. Anxiously, Andrew dug in the pocket of his slacks for a cigarette and his lighter, only to have the horrible realization that he only had half a pack left rattling around in their crushed carton. He was going to have to ration them, or bum a few off people in the commune. If they even had any to begin with.

But he needed one now. He would just have to limit himself as time went on. The stairs creaked violently as Andrew tried to move quietly down them. If there had been anyone else asleep in this house, they were awake now.

“Who is that?” A gruff voice echoed from the room below. Wymack was still hanging around, Andrew realized, with some discomfort. Was this his house? Come to think of it, he hadn’t bothered asking.

“Minyard.” Andrew called back, descending the rest of the stairs to find the older man seated at a table, eating ham and eggs in the light of a very faint set of bulbs suspended from the ceiling. Wymack was wearing exactly what they had found him in; a white undershirt with frayed sleeves and a pair of sturdy work jeans. 

He looked up from his plate, taking in Andrew’s presence. “Hm. Your partner told me you like to smoke. She wondered if it was going to be a problem.”

Something itched deep down in Andrew’s core, the muscle memory from a response he hadn’t needed to use in quite some time: resistance to authority figures. He took a long drag, letting the smoke spill out into the room like fog. “Will it be a problem?” He asked pointedly, raising both eyebrows.

Wymack looked unamused for a second before chuckling. “No, kid. No, it won’t. You’ve seen some shit, huh? Takes one to know one. Do you want any breakfast?”

Andrew didn’t particularly enjoy being called ‘kid,’ but he wasn’t going to push his luck. Wordlessly, he sat down at the table, crossing his arms. “Not right now. I think I have to remember how to be hungry. Where is Neil?”

“At Abby’s house. They’re strategizing, we’ve got some contacts in the city on the radio. I’ve got high hopes about our odds this time. It seems like we can finally get the perfect storm coming. Really show those Moriyama fuckers who’s boss.” Wymack sighed. “Beats me why he’s here. Neil. I’ve always known the Butcher’s kid was a difficulty for him. Just didn’t think he’d be so ballsy. What’s your story? That’s what I’ve been down here wondering. How did you all get mixed up together?”

Andrew thought about the man in the blue suit he’d seen singing his heart out in a shithole bar in Back Bay. He thought about a boy crawling into his criminal mother’s lap to learn scales. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Neil killing, but that version of him existed too. “A lot of reasons. I don’t normally believe in fate… but it was just the right chain of events, I think. Long story short, I investigate murders. He happened to be at the root of one of my cases. Maybe it is that simple.”

Placing his fork down on his plate, Wymack tapped his fingers on the table. “I think that’s enough for me for now. There’s something else with you, but it’s between you. I won’t ask.”

“Good.” Andrew took a few shallow drags in silence, watching the smoke form a stratus cloud in the dim light of the delicate bulbs. What he and Neil had was no one else’s business for now. Except maybe Renee and Allison’s, but of course, they understood.

“Whenever you’re ready you can head over here and join the party. Unless, of course, you think they have it covered.” Wymack stood, pushing in his chair. Andrew’s eyes were drawn to the tattoos covering most of the man’s exposed arms. They weren’t all uniform. Some of them were dark and black, curling in on each other like so many scythes. In the cracks, different shapes emerged. Andrew thought he could make out tree branches, the claw of an animal. Some of the ink was faded slightly. They were a work in progress, and clearly that work had already lasted years.

Andrew stood, nodding. “I think I’m ready to go.” He pushed in his chair, looking out one small window into the grey landscape. “Which house is it?”

“Oh, just next door. To the right. Tell em I said hey.”

He’d see himself out. Giving a small salute, Andrew shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and found his own way out of the house and into the drizzle. Sure enough, the lights next door were on, turned up much brighter than the lights in the kitchen. Andrew didn’t have the mental energy to wonder where they were getting power from. Hopping up to the porch, which was entirely enclosed in screen paneling, he gently rapped on the closed front door and waited.

“Finally. I was starting to think you would be asleep forever.” Neil chided, opening the door and letting light spill onto the porch. “We’re just waiting for our next radio window right now. So far we have a basic plan though.”

 

“Involving what, exactly?” Andrew stepped inside, letting his gaze linger a bit too long on the open collar of Neil’s grey dress shirt. He itched to reach out and touch Neil. But this wasn’t the time.

Neil led Andrew down a cheery hallway, the walls hung with water-colour paintings. “Jeremy Knox, actually. And the Trojans. They said they can try to stage a fight with the Moriyamas so they’ll let their guard down. When my father is vulnerable, that’s when we’ll move in. He has men of his own, but usually the Moriyamas are his biggest source of protection. If they’re distracted, we’ll have a clear path to him.”

That didn’t feel like the entire truth. “There’s more though, isn’t there?”

Neil cracked a somewhat mischievous smile. “Wait and see who we’ll get on the radio next. That’s the final piece.”

Abby, Renee and Allison were all crowded around the radio, listening to its faint static as though it were a suspenseful serial. “Andrew, how are you feeling?” Renee asked, sitting up instantly. “I almost thought you were in a coma.”

Andrew shrugged, sitting down beside her. “I’m alright I think. Being here feels…” He wasn’t sure what to say. It was disconcerting to suddenly be out of danger. He almost didn’t want to stop being paranoid. How could he stay on his toes in an environment that, up to this point, seemed generally trustworthy?

“Weird? Yeah.” Allison chimed in, looking around the room. “It’s-”

The radio crackled, Abby quickly spinning a large knob on the control panel to turn up the volume. “Hello?” An almost familiar voice spilled out of the speaker. “Is this right? Palm Meadow?”

“Yes, you’re on the right frequency,” Abby confirmed, grabbing the receiver. “How long do you have?”

“Not long. I probably shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Well, I appreciate the effort. We need you for this, Mr. Day.”

It dawned on Andrew that somehow Kevin Day, Riko Moriyama’s closest confidante, one of the king’s men, was on the radio with them, conspiring to kill a man who should have been his ally. “I was afraid you’d say that. What do you need?” Kevin replied, impossibly.

“A week from now, we need Riko out of the picture. It doesn’t matter what you do with him. We won’t forget about this. Your father-”

“We really don’t have time for this.” Kevin sounded impatient, even as he was attempting to keep his voice low. “How long do you need him distracted? Jean will help.”

“We need a four hour window at least.” Abby looked to Neil, who nodded in confirmation. “Probably around the middle of the day, if things stay how we want them to go.”

“Okay. I’ll be in touch. Tell him I said hi. And I hope he’s doing alright.” Kevin’s voice cut out, the static returning. Abby reached over, shutting off the radio with a click of finality. 

Andrew stared at the speaker, baffled but unwilling to voice his confusion. There was only one Kevin Day, and he had just been on the air. Did it matter how he got there? He eventually concluded, leaning back on the couch to watch Neil and Abby scribbling down a few more notes. There was a semblance of a plan coming together. Maybe questioning it would make the whole thing fall apart.

“Shit.” He froze, suddenly remembering the nature of linear time. “What day of the week is it?”

***

It was Wednesday. Shot day. Despite his bravado about doing his own shot, there was something in Andrew that shrunk at the idea. It wasn’t squeamishness that turned him away, or fear of pain. It was a deeper worry. That he would get used to causing himself pain again. That he would like it.

When he left Abby’s house, the paper bag of his hormones tucked under his arm, it was a relief that Neil followed after him. “You’ve been doing it yourself from the start, right?” Andrew asked quietly, shielding the bag from the rain under his arm.

Neil nodded, smiling sheepishly. “It was the only way I could do them. This is your first one on your own?”

It was both good and terrifying to finally have someone to talk to who understood Andrew’s life, his feelings, his identity. “Yeah. It is.” Wymack’s house was quiet and dark, the man himself nowhere to be found as Andrew retraced his steps to the upstairs bedroom. Unsure how to start, he sat down on the bed, leaving space for Neil to sit beside him.

Neil took the space, the bed creaking a little under his added weight. His face without the mask of concealer was a new landscape, but no less compelling. Andrew wanted to put the shot off, explore this new topography of skin and old wounds. But if he procrastinated any more, he might never do it. “Do you want me to help?” Neil asked. “I do mine on Wednesday too. We could do it together. If that’s okay.”

“Is it okay with you?” Andrew replied, fingers toying at the crumpled brown paper. 

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have said anything,” Neil assured him. “Let me go get my own supplies. Be right back.” The weight of the mattress shifted again, and Neil was gone. Andrew scooted back on the bed, to rest his back against the wall. There were nerves in his stomach he wanted to tear out. How did this feel more intimate than making out with Neil in the Tower? Was it because Neil hadn’t been completely honest then? Or was it something else?

He didn’t want to think about it. It felt too much like how he felt on the roof of the Tower, looking down at the dizzying fall to the street. By the time Neil returned, Andrew had spilled out the contents of the bag. Two glass vials, two sets of needles, gauze pads and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Neil took his spot on the bed back, popping open the small wooden box he stored his own medication in. “We can do it step by step. One at a time. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Let me just… never mind, fuck.” Andrew muttered, remembering once again his dwindling supply of cigarettes. “I would smoke to wind down first. But I only brought one carton.” He unbuckled his belt and wiggled his slacks down to his knees. He wouldn’t have to push his boxers up much to reach the place on his thigh where Aaron normally would stick the needle, but the now-exposed expanse of his skin felt like too much and too little all at once. 

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Neil asked, and the fact that he would stop to question how Andrew felt suddenly meant everything. Andrew nodded. It was okay. Neil pushed his own slacks down, revealing lightly tanned, well-toned thighs. Andrew entertained a fleeting fantasy of what it would be like to touch them before pushing it away to watch Neil carefully screw a slightly fatter needlepoint onto a syringe, sticking it into one glass vial and slowly drawing the clear fluid up into it.

Quickly, Andrew fumbled with his own supplies to copy him. It suddenly felt strange that, out of all the shots he’d had, Aaron had done this part too. Neil switched the needle to a much thinner one, and Andrew did the same, tapping the syringe to let the air bubbles course towards the top. “Are you ready?” Neil asked, once they had both cleared off a patch of skin with the alcohol. “I’ll go first, so you can watch me.”

And Andrew did watch, as Neil pulled lightly at the skin to make it taught, breathing in and out deeply before pressing the needle in. Down it went, like the proboscis of a butterfly into a flower. After a moment’s pause, Neil’s thumb found the plunger, steadily pushing every milliliter of the solution down into his muscle, where his body could decide what to do with it. Pulling the needle back out, Neil quickly covered up the minute puncture mark with a square of gauze. “Alright… there you go. Your turn.”

“Not yet.” Andrew said, setting down the needle he held and finally bowing to his urge to touch Neil’s face. Neil’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away. “Sorry.” Andrew went on, letting his thumb discover the exact texture of the cratered skin beneath Neil’s right eye. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t soft either. Almost like half-melted wax. “This is… it’s new.”

“It’s that way for me too.” Neil’s mouth pulled into a line. “All of this. Everything. Especially knowing that I’m not alone. That I’m not the only man like this. I keep thinking about it.”

“Can I…”

 

“Yes.” Neil cut him off, meeting Andrew’s kiss halfway. It took the nerves out of him, oddly enough. Almost better than a cigarette. When Andrew pulled away, reaching back for the syringe, the tension had left his legs. The sensation of the needle piercing his skin was new and familiar all at once, the gentle pop of a balloon, the fleeting radius of pain. He always imagined he could feel the hormone spilling into his blood, but he never really could. The only proof he had was the dropping plunger in the syringe, the knowledge that whatever he was doing, it had worked so far.

When he was done, the blood clotted in the pinpoint hole in his thigh, he dropped the syringe back into the paper bag and pulled his pants back up. “Thank you.” He sighed. He didn’t even know what he was thanking Neil for anymore. Just that he was grateful.


	16. Let's Do It (Let's Fall In Love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally this fic properly earns the E rating

March 31st, 1933  
Seven twenty in the Evening  
Palm Meadow Commune  
Northern Coastline, Independence

Not worrying was getting to Andrew. It was unnerving to have spent almost two full days not doing anything. Maybe this was a safe place after all, but did it have to be? Watching Renee and Allison walk aimlessly hand-in-hand along the tide pools that afternoon had been nice on one hand, but anxiety-inducing on the other. What if they weren’t worrying enough?

It was making him insane, but he’d sooner die than say anything about it to anyone. He pushed the feeling deep down every time it picked its head back up, cramming it into a part of his gut where it couldn’t constantly remind him it was there.

Maybe he shouldn’t keep shoving it down. The thought occurred to him suddenly as he sat in the dining room of Wymack’s house, poking half-heartedly at a bowl of stew. If he told someone, what was the worst that could happen? When he hadn’t been plotting with the others, he had filled the previous two days with sleeping, ignoring his anxieties, thinking about how badly he wished he brought more cigarettes, and watching Neil from a distance. Neil, meanwhile, had been enjoying his own alone time it seemed, also taking the opportunity to get to know Renee and Allison better. If Andrew could pull Neil away from them, would he want to listen to Andrew get his nerves out of his system?

While Andrew wasn’t exactly in the mood for a heart-to-heart, it was disconcerting that the first person he would consider to share his feelings with was Neil. Or perhaps it wasn’t. This was the new normal. He could try leaning on Neil, try opening up when it wasn’t imperative for survival. 

It was a quiet and sweltering dusk, clouds of gnats lifting from the damp earth to spin hazy circles in the purple light. Andrew left his bowl on the table, heading out into the heat. Further down the lane, on the silty flats bordering the tide pools, Andrew could make out Neil’s silhouette. He appeared to be alone, Renee and Allison nowhere to be found. Now was as good a time as ever.

As Andrew closed in on Neil, the sounds of the ocean, gentle waves rolling and frothing in the distance, mixed with the sweet, low tone of Neil’s voice. Of course he was singing, Andrew thought, unable to keep the smile off his face. He was such an addict. Andrew couldn’t hear the words, but the song reached him anyway. When he drew up alongside Neil, taking a few steps out onto the sand, Neil slowly let the song trail off. There was a distant look in his eyes, but they focused somewhat when he turned to face Andrew. “Is someone looking for me? I was just thinking. And practicing. But mostly thinking.”

“I was looking for you.” Andrew snorted. “Thinking about what?”

“The ocean… the day my mother died.” Neil’s jaw hardened. “How I’m going to kill my father. You know. All those things.”

“I was thinking too. That it would be nice if we could just talk.” Andrew said carefully. How were you supposed to ask a person to listen to your fears? “Maybe inside? It’s so humid out here.”

Neil didn’t question him, simply pressing his lips together and nodding once. “That’s fine by me. I’ve had enough of the ocean for one day.” He held out his hand and Andrew took it. That was normal now, Andrew considered as they walked back down the lane together. Their simple physical connection. And he had gotten so used to it; the rough warmth of Neil’s hand pressed into his own.

It was too dark in the dining room, but the simple parlor was cozy, and the lights there shone somewhat brighter than in the rest of the house. “Is he here?” Neil asked, sitting down on a lumpy couch. “Wymack?”

“No, he isn’t. He’s actually almost never here. Mostly he just goes to Abby’s house.” Andrew dug in his pocket for a cigarette. He only had four left, but his head was starting to hurt. It could wait, he decided, sitting down and shoving his hands under his legs to keep his mind off the way they were beginning to shake. 

Neil visibly relaxed, tension going out of his shoulders. “Can you blame me for being nervous around older men?”

Andrew shook his head, emphatically. “I certainly couldn’t.” Where to start? “Is it okay if I just. Shit, I’m bad at this. If I just talk some shit out?”

Neil’s face softened. It was incredible how quickly Andrew’s heart squeezed in reaction. “That’s fine. I’ll listen. Go on.”

“It feels like shit just to sit around doing nothing. We have too much time to sit on our asses here, this can’t be that simple. There should be something more we can do… or am I just making myself worry?” Andrew said flatly, trying not to let any actual fear worm into his voice. “I think I’m too used to getting paranoid. And I’m running out of cigarettes. I know that’s an adjacent problem but I can’t stop thinking about it either.”

Neil sighed. “I get it. Always having to be on the look-out for something going wrong… gets to you. I know it gets to me. I feel the same way. Also sorry if this is too much, but how many do you smoke a day usually?”

“Some days only a few. But if I’m worked up I can go through a whole pack.”

“How many do you have?”

“Four.” Andrew muttered. “I know. Not great. I just don’t want to think about it. I know I’m going to run out.”

Neil sat up on the couch, looking thoughtful. “Would it help if I distracted you somehow? Take your mind off it? Don’t get me wrong, I can’t know how it feels. But I want to help.”

Would it help? Andrew couldn’t see a way it would make the situation any more dire. “Do your worst, Josten.” He replied, giving a faint smile. Neil stood, moving to the corner to grab Wymack’s radio off a shelf and tote it over to the coffee table, bending down to fiddle with the dials until he found a signal.

“Dance with me?” Neil asked, turning his back on the radio and the static swell of jazz that poured from its speaker, offering Andrew his hand.

“I’ll try.” Andrew took it, letting Neil pull him up, guiding Neil’s other hand to its usual place on his waist. As the music filled the room, winding its way around the legs of furniture, Neil found Andrew’s center of gravity, leading him on a slow, evenly paced circle before quickly guiding him through a step sequence. By some miracle, Andrew remembered the steps, his muscle memory cooperating, Neil’s hand on his back helping him along as always.

The previous two lessons, combined with Andrew’s, dare he say it, trust in Neil, seemed to have done something new to their dance. Andrew didn’t just feel as though he were being led through steps. They were making the dance together, wordlessly, Neil leading Andrew through turns but Andrew feeling every step, making it on his own.

It was exhilarating, in a way. Together they moved faster, Neil holding Andrew closer than before, each slight brush of contact between legs lasting a lifetime. The parlor became too small, and before long Neil had moved them through the dining room and hallway and onto the screen-hemmed porch. Night had crept in and wrapped the porch in tender darkness, but the light from the parlor window lit it softly, and Neil spun Andrew through dream-like shadows until Andrew almost lost himself to the dance alone.

Neil, too, was taken in by the moment. He slowed, walking Andrew into a series of grapevines, singing softly along to the song on the radio. _Let’s do it,_ He hummed, light and shadow playing gently over his jaw, _Let’s fall in love,_ and his hand was warm and steady on Andrew’s waist, and Andrew’s heartbeat was louder than the crash of the far-away waves.

“Stop,” Andrew said quietly, and Neil slowed further, letting them rock back and forth, weight carrying with rhythm carrying with the soft sea breeze. On the screen enclosing the porch, a crane fly brushed its delicate legs against the wire, fighting to get inside, to get closer to the light. Andrew watched it for a moment before letting his gaze drift back to Neil.

He understood the need to struggle towards light, he thought.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked, his voice reaching a strange hoarse pitch in his chest.

“Yes,” Neil breathed, looking as though he had never meant anything more.

When Andrew grabbed Neil’s collar, dragging him down for a kiss, Neil kissed back harder, desperate, both his hands dropping to Andrew’s waist. The warmth of Neil’s body, pressed against Andrew, was reassuring and all too intense, igniting a spark in Andrew’s chest that travelled through him like wildfire. Before he could think twice, he had already let his lips part, allowing Neil to kiss him as deeply as he seemed to need. As both of them seemed to need.

Andrew pulled back perhaps a centimeter to catch his breath, his heart breaking windows in his chest with every beat. The heat of Neil’s hands on his waist, the barrier of clothing in between them, the hazy look in Neil’s eyes. These things were all too much and all too little. “Neil Abram,” Andrew rasped, his voice coming out much deeper than intended, “Where can I touch you?”

“Right now?” Neil let his hands slip a fraction of an inch down Andrew’s waist. “Anywhere. But I don’t think that’s what you meant to ask. Andrew, what do you want?”

“Everything,” Andrew replied, his brain unable to think of anything else, and yet he meant it. He wanted anything Neil was willing to give him. “Anywhere, unless I say no.” And then Neil was kissing him again, stoking a second wave of heat that curled and pressed like a hot iron in Andrew’s core.

Andrew pressed Neil into the wooden siding of the house and Neil nearly moaned, a soft noise jolted from him by the impact. This was so much more than that night at the Tower had been, Andrew thought, working around the wild spinning of his thoughts. This was no longer a game. With every passing second the want grew stronger, until Andrew could imagine he was vibrating like a tuning fork down to the tips of his fingers, pulling apart the buttons of Neil’s dress shirt, tangling in Neil’s auburn curls.

Neil knew what Andrew liked by now. Abandoning Andrew’s mouth, he darted down to the curve of Andrew’s neck, kissing the skin gently before pulling it between his lips and trying his damnedest to outdo his hickey from the last time. Andrew was not generally loud. Even in recent, pre-Neil exploits, sex was just a way to feel something. He had no reason to raise his voice, not for himself, not for men he was never going to see again. But Neil was truly testing his reserve, and Andrew found himself trying to keep sounds trapped down in his chest, biting his cheek and lip to force them back.

Neil’s hands, meanwhile, had found his belt buckle, and were deftly working on pulling it apart. There was no question about it now – Andrew was hard, his dick pressing against the inner seam of his briefs. Unconsciously he moved against Neil, sliding his arms down to clasp him around the shoulders. Slowly, giving Andrew time to stop him or push him back, Neil lifted one leg for Andrew to move against. Andrew took the chance, unable to keep a low groan from making it out into the world as Neil sucked harder on his neck, as friction burned a path up from his hips. In moments he had gone from tentative movements against Neil’s leg to intentional pressure, his hips finding something of a rhythm.

“Inside?” Andrew rasped, working his voice around heavy breaths. He had almost gotten Neil’s shirt fully unbuttoned, and if this was going where he hoped it would, he figured they would both be more comfortable inside when the rest came off.

Neil pulled up from Andrew’s neck, smirking slightly as though he were proud of his handiwork. “Yeah, I think that would be the best…” Taking Andrew’s hand, Neil pulled him back into the house, locking the front door behind him. A cautionary measure. “Uh, upstairs or down?” Neil asked, and Andrew took a moment to revel in how red Neil’s mouth had become.

“Here is fine,” Andrew sat Neil down on the couch, tossing off his own shirt but leaving the bands of fabric beneath covering his arms. Neil’s eyes widened, and he beckoned Andrew, hands finding Andrew’s hips, tugging him down to straddle his lap. Andrew sat, snorting, knowing where Neil’s gaze had gravitated towards. “You can touch them if you want. They’re not sensitive or anything.”

Neil gently brushed the twin lines of scar tissue on Andrew’s chest, breathing out as he did. “Wow. Your brother did it, right? I have to admit… I’m jealous. Did it hurt?”

“It was pretty damn sore afterwards for a while, but I think it was worth it.” Andrew tilted Neil’s chin up, giving him a tender kiss. Neil practically melted, sighing into his mouth, his hands sliding back down Andrew’s torso until they re-discovered the waistband of his pants. When Andrew broke the kiss, reluctantly, he took hold of Neil’s mostly open shirt, taking in the tight compression of the fabric beneath. “Can this come off? Or do you want it on?” Andrew nodded his head towards the binding material. 

Neil shifted, pulling his arms out of his shirt sleeves, starting to wiggle out of the garment like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. “I think it’ll be okay like this…” He tugged the binder off, quickly sticking his arms back in the shirt and covering back up. “Yeah, this is fine with me. It’s fine if you want to touch them but yeah, I just don’t… it doesn’t feel right being so exposed.”

Andrew looked down, taking in the strip of Neil’s bare chest left exposed. The skin was lightly tanned, covered in the remnants of old wounds, like the crushed edges of seashells. He ran the pads of his fingers lightly over them, feeling Neil shiver under the touch, a wavering sound escaping him. These were Neil’s scars, and Andrew wasn’t going to ask unless Neil told him. Feeling oddly comfortable about it, Andrew slid the fabric bands from his own arms, letting them drop to the floor, exposing closed wounds of his own before moving in for another kiss.

It took no time at all for Andrew to lose himself in the haze. There was nothing stopping him from shifting in Neil’s lap, grinding against him steadily. Neil put in more work on Andrew’s slacks, completely removing his belt and unzipping them as far as he could. Andrew, impatient, squirmed out of them completely, practically throwing them across the floor as he slipped from Neil’s lap, dropping to his knees between Neil’s legs. “Yes, Andrew,” Neil groaned, answering the question Andrew had yet to voice, his cheeks flushed pink but his cold eyes grown dark like storm clouds with desire. “I want this, yes, just…”

Andrew cut him off, hastily pulling Neil’s pants away, letting Neil settle back on the couch before brushing his mouth in a trail up the inside of his leg, sliding a hand up to finally touch Neil over his briefs, finding Neil’s dick through the fabric in a matter of seconds. Neil bit his lip but didn’t ask Andrew to speed up, letting Andrew take his time stroking him, slowly working his briefs down. 

On Neil’s hipbone, in simple handwriting, was a small tattoo. “ _Dum vivo, spero_ ,” Neil breathed as Andrew touched it lightly, “It’s Latin. I just liked it.”

“What does it mean?” Andrew asked, tracing the letters with his index finger. 

“‘As I live, I hope.’ It’s like… as long as I’m still alive, there’s something in me that can still… will still be able to believe in a future where I make it.” Neil slid a hand into Andrew’s hair and Andrew let him, bowing his head between Neil’s legs and, as tenderly as he could manage, pulling Neil’s dick between his lips.

Neil moaned, low at first, his voice shaking as it increased in pitch and volume, fingers tightening in Andrew’s hair. It felt right to touch a familiar body, Andrew thought through the haze, pressing light kisses on either side of Neil’s cock. This was anatomy Andrew was familiar with, because it was his own. Neil squirmed under him, his hips lifting, the muscles in his thighs twitching on either side of Andrew’s head.

“Oh fuck Andrew, you… it’s so good. I don’t want to… if you keep going I’ll come…” Neil panted, and Andrew pulled away, leaving Neil to sink back against the couch and catch his breath. “I can touch you too. If it’s okay.” Neil offered, his voice hoarse, once he had recovered somewhat.

Andrew thought back to his daydream in the shower, some weeks ago now, to his fantasy of Neil’s soft mouth on his dick. He could make that a reality now. “Yeah, it’s more than okay.” Andrew got back to his feet, motioning for Neil to make room on the couch so that he could lay across its length, letting one leg dangle off the side for increased access. Slowly, purposefully, making sure that Neil was watching, Andrew slid his own briefs off, dropping them over the back of the sofa.

Neil moved, not for Andrew’s dick but for his mouth, kissing him sweetly, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Not for nothing, Andrew slid his arms around Neil’s shoulders, his insides melting even further than they had before, pooling like lava at the center of the earth. In time, Neil headed downwards, kissing the scars on Andrew’s chest as he went. Neither did he ignore the halos of spider-webbing scars encircling each of Andrew’s legs where it met the hip, letting his lips brush them on his way to where Andrew wanted – no, needed – his touch the most. 

Andrew let his head fall back, his breath catching hard in his chest as Neil lightly traced over his dick with his tongue, letting it flicker teasingly out of his mouth. “You are… completely evil…” Andrew huffed, trying to shift his hips up, but every time Neil moved out of the way, the soft huff of his laughter making Andrew’s dick practically throb. “Neil Abram Josten, this is fucking uncalled for and you know it.”

“Yeah?” Neil snorted, flashing a grin up at Andrew. Andrew was about to open his mouth to complain even louder when his words were hastily displaced by a low moan, Neil finally bending down to press his tongue fully against the length of his dick, sucking it into his mouth. Andrew choked back the next barrage of sounds that struggled to leave his mouth, the small of his back arching off the sofa cushions with a jolt.

Andrew had no choice but to try and ride the waves rearing up within him, pressure and white-hot tension curling into a solid mass that pushed down into him like cast-iron filling a mold. He found that after a certain point he could no longer hold his noises in, so he turned them into words, filling the air with Neil’s name, with affirmations that yes, this was exactly what he wanted. Neil did not stop when Andrew, breathless, warned him that he was close. Andrew didn’t want him to stop.

When Andrew came, hips jumping off the sofa as though electrocuted, he had to clasp a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Tremors rolled through him like the aftershocks of an earthquake, Neil’s mouth pushing him gently through each wave of pleasure. As his body returned to his control, Andrew slowly lifted himself up, sliding a hand through Neil’s hair to lift his head. “Your turn,” Andrew murmured, and as soon as Neil sat up properly he shifted his still weak legs, moving back into Neil’s lap.

Neil wasn’t a body-builder, but even just touching them over his shirt, Andrew could feel the firmness and tone of his upper arms. Even as Andrew tried to focus on kissing Neil senseless, he couldn’t keep himself from letting his hands curl and dip over Neil’s deltoids, sliding down over his biceps. It was a simple thing, but it was the simple things that made Neil so unbearably sexy, Andrew thought, his mind numbed by… well, everything.

It wasn’t long before Neil could no longer hold back his noises, growing breathy and high pitched surprisingly fast. Andrew slipped a hand between them, letting it drop until he found Neil’s dick again. Neil let his mouth drop from their kiss, hiding his face in Andrew’s shoulder as Andrew moved his hand, carefully, in small circles, just as he would do for himself.

Neil came with a broken moan, clinging fiercely to Andrew as he rode it out. Once he managed to catch his breath he lifted his head from the shelter of Andrew’s shoulder, and with almost intolerable softness, kissed Andrew’s cheek. “Thank you. Wow,” he mumbled, his entire face pink, a grin threatening to pull at his lips, “That was… amazing.”

Andrew’s heart could not have felt stranger if Neil had cut open his ribs and reached inside to squeeze it. The feeling did not leave. It didn’t leave as they dressed partway, reclaiming their underwear but abandoning the rest of their clothes. It didn’t leave as Neil curled around Andrew in his bed, lazily kissing his forehead. It certainly didn’t leave as the night grew long, Neil’s heartbeat lulling Andrew into something like a peaceful rest.


	17. A Fight for Love and Glory

April 5th, 1933  
Pre-Dawn: 400 hours

The tide pools were grey in the half light, the green-black shadows of seaweed barely stirring beneath the surface of the water. A horseshoe crab meandered along the silty bottom of the nearest pool as Andrew smoked his last cigarette, sitting on a rocky divot in the shoreline, Renee beside him. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Renee chuckled. “It’s not something I really expected from you.”

“Aaron had always been up my ass trying to get me to quit,” Andrew sighed, slowly releasing a mouthful of smoke, “And even though the last couple days were shit… I don’t know. Something tells me I’ll be better off. I have other vices. Smoking just… it’s hard to explain. But I do want to stop.”

Renee let her head slip down until it rested on Andrew’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you. You know that. Where’s Neil?”

“He was still in bed when I got up. I just needed to come out here and think before shit hits the fan.” Andrew took another shallow drag, released it. This was his last cigarette, and he was going to make it count.

Renee made a soft, thoughtful hum. “Andrew. You share a bed with him?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m surprised I’m okay with it too. I’m surprised I was okay with everything. Neil… Neil is a safe place. I think.” He sighed. “Sorry, that sounded so fucking sappy.”

“I think you deserve it,” Renee replied. “What about him does that for you?”

Andrew let out another breath. The sun was going to rise soon, and then they would have to catch the train. But for now he was going to be honest. “In a way I don’t really know. I just kept expecting to feel panicked, but it never came. He was opening up for me the same as I was opening up for him. I think it was more than I bargained for. In a good way.”

“One way or another, this will end today.” Renee murmured. “Either we win or we don’t. I am trying to have faith that we will. This is his fight, but we’re going to be right there with him.”

The air was humid and close, settling against Andrew’s skin like a phantom. Soot-black clouds shifted overhead, rolling and tumbling, a hint of sick green light coming through them. Andrew took the last drag of his final cigarette and tossed it into the tide pool, a stream of smoke like a spiderweb hissing off the surface as the embers were engulfed in saltwater.

“I’m ready when you are.” He said, after a time, and Renee stood, offering him a hand. 

Dawn: 500 hours

The sun burned in a thin ribbon to the east, a hot crimson line pushing apart the pillars of sky and sea. The clouds, heavy, were silent and huge. Andrew, along with Neil, Renee and Allison, stood at the train tracks, waiting in the oppressive silence of the dawn for the sound of the returning coal engine. Wymack had also chosen to see them off, and stood off to one side, arms crossed, looking as though he could be a schoolteacher waiting for someone to take his charges home. 

Andrew paid less attention to Wymack than he did to Neil, who looked as grim as a death row sentence. His gaze was distant and cold, a polar ice cap roving over an expanse of black tide. He had deliberately chosen not to hide his scars, not on his hands and not on his face, and the hard clench of his jaw tightened his skin into a mask. He had found a fitting suit, a deep blue that somehow brought both his hair and eyes into jarring focus. On his hand, the golden cleaver ring still shone.

And perhaps that was the way it ought to be. Neil was ready for his fight. The Fleet Foxes were an accessory. Andrew could lend Neil a hand, but this was his moment, and he was going to meet it in the only fitting style.

Renee and Allison had also dressed as though they were going to a party, Renee in a suit, Allison in a long, ivory colored dress. Andrew must have reacted in some way to the dress, because Allison, in lieu of a ‘good morning,’ had raised her eyebrows at him and said “Well, if I die then they’ll have to bury me in something sexy. Let me live a little.”

Fair enough, Andrew thought. Regardless, Neil was taking up most of Andrew’s thoughts anyhow. What could Andrew do? Nonsensical urges kept rising in his mind, the desire to comfort Neil or reassure him, but was Andrew built for comfort? He didn’t even know if Neil would be okay with physical contact, and it was safer not to ask. Maybe just standing there was enough, even in silence showing that he was there. When had Andrew been the type of person to wonder about comforting others anyway?

This experience had changed him, Andrew acknowledged, dimly. He was a different man now than he had been before Neil. What a strange feeling it was to admit that.

In the distance, the rattling of the train finally reached Andrew’s ears. Wymack straightened up, looking over the group one last time. “Right… good luck,” he said, after a moment or two, “Abby and I will keep in touch with Mr. Boyd and Mr. Day over the radio, make sure everything turns out alright. But from here on out it’ll be up to you. Don’t fuck this up. We live in a shit world these days, but not everything is hopeless. Fixing even one part of this mess we’re in is a good start.”

Not for the first time, Andrew wondered what the relationship between this man and Kevin Day was, before setting it reluctantly to the side. There were more important things to worry about. “Don’t worry,” Neil said, turning to look back at Wymack, “Something’s gonna end today. One way or another.”

The train rounded the corner, half its length passing before an empty boxcar showed itself. As Andrew tossed himself onto the dusty wooden floor of the car, a violent rumbling sound closed in around him. For a moment he was startled. Had he damaged the train in some way?

Then, sitting up, Andrew caught sight of the sky, spears of lightning darting down from the black clouds, illuminating the salt marshes with stark light and murky shadows. As Renee, the last one into the car, pulled her legs up, the atmosphere seemed to quiver and coalesce into itself, the humidity becoming a vacuum. All at once, the clouds opened, and the train car was doused with rain. The deluge did not politely stop at the open edge of the boxcar, bizarrely hot water sweeping in on the arms of the wind.

“Fuck it,” Neil announced, his words blunt and clipped, “This might as well happen. It’ll give us better cover anyway.”

Morning: 900 hours

As the morning drew on, the storm only grew fiercer. Even with the boxcar mostly closed up, the wind and rain still slid in through the crack left open for visibility. They had talked softly, intermittently, although it was hard to make much out over the sound of the rain.

“I think we should split up. Renee and I will go the Backward Pawn, help the Trojans with their fight. That way you and Neil can just wait by the Castle and like, keep watch. Where are we meeting back up again after?”

“Trinity?” Andrew suggested. “If the Trojans have another option, I’m open to it. But I think Trinity is as good a place to lie low as any.”

Neil snorted, looking between the three of them. “Yeah. I still can’t believe this is all happening, by the way.” He trailed off, twisting the ring on his hand. “If I win… I feel like maybe I didn’t explain the politics of this quite right. I’m the next Butcher, you know. The Moriyama family will still keep tabs on me. In case they need another cleaver to throw around. And my father’s people… well, I think they’ll look to me if I come out on top. That’s how these kinds of families work. What I can promise is I won’t let the Moriyama’s bully me into becoming as cruel as my father. If I can put up the pretense of loyalty, but still work against them…”

“You can be a man on the inside,” Andrew added.

“Right. That’s the best case scenario.” Neil pushed at his ring again. “Thank you for doing this. All of you. I’ve always been alone, until now. This time I stand a chance.” Almost shy, he reached out towards Andrew, the question implicit in the action. Andrew affirmed him, taking his hand and giving it the slightest squeeze.

Renee smiled, a hint of slyness in the corner of her lips. “Oh, that’s right, I have a question for you Neil! Or more like an offer. I brought it up to Andrew and Allison already, and they’re just fine with it. Once all of this is over, how would you feel about joining up with the Fleet Foxes? We could use your insight, even with simple cases. Plus, with all your intel, you could really help us out with fighting the corruption of the Independence elite. So what do you say? Are you in?”

A bewildered laugh left Neil’s lips, a puzzled glaze falling over his eyes. “Is that a joke? Do you remember how I like, helped create some of your cases?”

“It’s a complicated world.” Renee shrugged. “With complicated people in it. Offer’s still on the table, though.” She stuck out her hand, palm open. “Take it or leave it.”

Neil’s free hand, the one not holding Andrew’s, moved slowly up to shake Renee’s. “Then I’ll take it. Consider my name on the line. I’ll try my best to make this worth your while.”

The storm raged on outside. Even as the train approached Boston, the lights of the city were a barely recalled fever dream through the grim haze of the tempest engulfing the skyline. Soon enough, familiar sights began to emerge through the sheets of rain. “That’s where we left the Victoria.” Andrew said, heaving open the door of the boxcar to reveal the shape of a building across a sodden expanse of vacant lot.

It was good to see his car again. Andrew had quite missed it, really. Would it be gross to display affection for a vehicle in front of others? Once he had freed the Victoria from its sheet metal camouflage, Andrew settled for gently patting its hood. Good enough. It was a special sort of homecoming to feel the Victoria’s engine growl to life, to press his foot to the gas and ease it back out into the rain. In the passenger seat, Neil watched Andrew, still brittle but somewhat amused. “You look like you just found your lost pet or something,” Neil muttered, a smile pulling at his mouth.

“What can I say? A man must have his car. Classic love story.” Andrew snorted. “I’ll go to the Backward Pawn first and then loop back around to the Castle. That sound alright?”

“Sure it does.” Renee nodded, looking out the window. “Everything is familiar, but not. Sorry, that’s off topic. I just have a lot of thoughts I guess.”

Familiar but not. Andrew sensed it too. What had changed? Was it the city itself? The storm? Was it something in Andrew, an intrinsic part of him altered? It was vaguely frightening to think too hard about that. Andrew tried to focus on the road instead, pushing the Victoria faster and faster through the deserted streets, waves of rainwater rearing up as he plowed the car through various puddles.

Lightning crackled across the sky as the Backward Pawn came into sight, lighting up several rows of unfamiliar cars parked in the road lining the club. Most of them were some mixture of red and gold. The Trojans had come through, it seemed. The windows of the club were brightly lit, golden rectangles floating in the static of falling rain. “Just let us out here,” Renee reached for the door handle, “We’ll be fine. You had better be safe, Andrew. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

Andrew sighed heavily. “I can certainly try. And I mean that.”

“Good enough.” Renee slipped out of the car, Allison giving Andrew a hopeful look before following her. Andrew idled in the road long enough to watch the two of them disappear into the Backward Pawn. They would be just fine. Overall, the skirmishes set up by Knox and the Trojans weren’t designed to be dangerous, just distracting.

Thunder rolled, lightning bathing the streets again in a brilliant light, the magnesium flash of a camera in the dark. Neil cleared his throat. “Just us. Take us there.”

Andrew put the car back into drive. It felt circuitous, this return to the Castle. He had been there twice, and now once more, each visit under radically different circumstances. It was not so much a bar as it was a frame of reference, a colosseum, a fight club. 

Battery Wharf was an alien landscape in the storm. Grey waves rose from the harbor, lashing against the pier, throwing themselves up onto the road. Carefully, Andrew slid the Victoria behind a pitifully flickering row of street lamps, turning off the engine and headlights. “Now we wait.” He muttered, looking out onto the empty wharf.

“This is it, huh?” Neil said, staring through the dark windshield. 

“It’s always been this, though.” Andrew tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the craving for just one more cigarette creeping into his mind. He had to put those thoughts down. Maybe if he had something to drink it could dull the need. “This day has always been here waiting for us. We just couldn’t see it yet.”

“You mean more to me than I thought you would.” Neil’s voice was so low Andrew could barely pick out the words. “At first it really was an act, at least partly. Then not so much.”

Andrew turned in the driver’s seat, facing Neil, waiting until he was sure he had Neil’s full attention to speak again. “Don’t take this shit lightly. I knew what I was getting into. You are part of my life now. However long that life lasts, whether it ends today or keeps going. You have to know that.”

“Kiss me?” Neil asked, so faintly it was almost a whisper.

Andrew cupped Neil’s face in his hands and leaned across the center console to kiss him softly. It was new to offer a kiss as comfort, not evidence of desire, but as they came apart, Andrew let his eyes stay closed, allowed his forehead to rest against Neil’s. He really could get used to this. 

“If I die…” Neil started, his breath ghosting across Andrew’s cheek.

“No. Stop.” Andrew cut him off, rubbing his thumb across a scarred expanse of cheekbone. “You are not going to die. You’re going to fight, and I’m going to be right there watching your back. We’re going to win. Do not fucking start giving up, Abram. Not today.”

Neil breathed out, steadying himself. “You’re right. One more?”

Andrew kissed him again, if it could be called a kiss, lips just barely pressing together. It seemed to strengthen Neil, to put some life in him. Pulling away, Andrew slipped a hand up the sleeve of his coat, under the cuff of his shirt, wiggling a long, thin blade from one hidden sheath. Wordlessly, he pressed it into Neil’s hands. “You know what to do with this. It’s my best one, you’ll need it more than I will.”

Neil held up the knife, cradling its naked grip, turning it over in the dim light. “Sharp.” He murmured. “This will do.”

High Noon: 1200 hours

Gunshots rang in the distance like the sound of bells calling the faithful to church. Andrew held his breath, watched over the dashboard as the doors of the Castle opened into the deluge, Moriyama men pouring out into the rain. Twenty-five, perhaps thirty men, and Andrew caught sight of their weapons drawn as they piled into cars parked further along the wharf. Riko and Kevin were the last ones to go, Andrew distinguishing them by their respective heights and the silhouette of Riko’s cane.

The sound of faraway gunfire continued, the growing louder and more varied, the calls of violent birds in a dark forest. Neil sat up, his eyes cold and bright. “This is our chance. I’ll bet anything he’s still inside. He hates throwing himself into the thick of things, it’s too messy for him.”

Around the back of the Castle, the back door was locked, but it took Andrew only minutes to pick it. He felt a brief resistance to enter the grey stairwell again, to return to the Butcher’s workroom, but Neil’s back was already disappearing into the abyss. Andrew had already made up his mind to follow him.

All of a sudden, the sound of Neil’s footsteps stopped completely. “He’s not here.” Neil called back up, turning around to face Andrew. “He could be upstairs, but he really only goes up to the club when he has a victim he wants to make an example of. And everyone just left anyway, so what would the point be?”

Andrew sighed. “Might as well check. We’ve come this far.” Back out into the rain it was. While the rain was still absurdly hot, the weight of it soaking into Andrew’s clothes was getting uncomfortable. His hair was as wet as though he’d taken a shower. Skirting the edge of the building he and Neil returned to the front entrance, which despite the number of Moriyama's that had just left, was bolted closed. 

“We don’t fucking have time for this,” Neil seethed, taking a step back before kicking the seam of the double doors. Andrew didn’t bother asking if he needed help. It took three direct hits before something broke, a snapping of wood like broken bones as the doors came apart, Neil forcing his way inside to the darkened floor of the club. Andrew followed on his heels, letting the doors fall limply back into each other like drunk friends.

The lights were off, from the bar to the massive wooden staircase. The room was both smaller and larger than it had been in the night. Various drinks and personal effects had been left abandoned on the silence countertop of the bar. Along the walls, the vaulted windows gazed out into the void of the storm, oil paintings of the same mottled grey sea. But these things were not important. They flickered through Andrew’s mind as stills, recalled photographs.

What caught his full focus were the six men arrayed on the black marble dance floor, beneath the shadowed colossus of the chandelier. “Nathaniel,” called one of the men, a warped mirror of Neil, his hair and his eyes and a cruel square jaw, “You’re finally home! And you brought me the other half of this matching set. How kind of you. I was wondering where you’d run off to. You and this… detective? What even is he, anyway? Not important, at any rate.” He lifted the shining cleaver in his hand, light rippling over the blade. Behind him, four other men stood, one of them having already drawn his pistol.

The sixth man was slumped on his knees on the black marble, his white doctor’s coat stained with Rorschach blots of blood. A heavy wood table had been dragged onto the dance floor, and the man’s hands were bound behind him, crossed around one leg of the table. Andrew was relatively unused to the feeling of paralysis, but this time the fear came before the rage, holding him as violently as a child holds a moth before tearing its wings. Neil took another step, drawing Andrew’s knife. “You really don’t know why I’m here? You think I’m bringing him to you? Wrong. Come on, don’t be a coward. You knew this was coming.”

“Aaron!” Andrew finally managed to bring himself back to life, his body returning to flesh from where it had been stone. Aaron shifted, raising his head, eyes bloodshot but still open, blood streaming from an obviously broken nose. His mouth fell open in shock, but the relief that flooded over Andrew was stronger than any drug he’d ever taken. Aaron was alive.

He was alive for the time being, anyway. The relief flushed out, replaced with something darker, a festering writhing thing, a rage Andrew had not felt since he watched his and Aaron’s mother take her frustration out on his twin. The Butcher had replied to Neil, but Andrew did not hear it. As Neil leapt towards his father, Andrew’s blade in hand, Andrew rushed the man with the gun, forgoing the rest of his knives for his fists.

Andrew had never been good at dodging. Also, hindsight was 20/20.

He was dimly aware that the pistol had gone off, that there was a ringing in his left ear and something hot on the side of his face. However close the bullet had come, it was only a graze to Andrew’s temple. Not enough to stop him. Andrew grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him down to his own height before punching him in the jaw as hard as his body would allow.

Time always seemed to slow for Andrew when the stakes were high, movement like a camera shutter opening and closing. He kneed the man in the stomach, yanking the gun from his hand. In another universe, across the room, Neil had not let the gunfire tear his attention away from the fight, but he had momentarily lost ground against the Butcher in a bid to check that Andrew still lived. The sharp singing of knife against cleaver rang out over the marble floor.

The shutter opened, closed again. Andrew cocked the pistol, fired it at the man nearest Aaron before diving under the table, not checking to see whether it had hit. Aaron was speaking, but Andrew’s world was too hazy for him to make out the words, and his ear was still ringing besides. Luckily the handcuffs Aaron had been restrained with were simple to open. More gunfire erupting behind him, Andrew slung his brother over his shoulder, racing for the red oak staircase and the shelter of the balcony.

“Did you hear me?” Aaron rasped as they reached the balcony, Andrew levering him down onto the ground behind a row of potted plants. “I asked if you were here for your shot… or if you got shot.”

“I could fucking slap you.” Andrew muttered, allowing himself a moment’s reprieve to touch his left temple, hissing at the sting of the wound. Sure enough, the bullet had grazed a portion of scalp over his ear, leaving a raw tunnel of torn flesh, but by some miracle had passed cleanly past him without dipping into his skull. He had limited time. “Where are you hurt?”

Aaron breathed out deeply, feeling his ribs. “They beat me up pretty bad. Nothing I haven’t been through before. You got here just before they really started getting down to business.”

“I should apologize-” One of the men reached the landing, swinging for Andrew with a fist outlined in heavy brass knuckles. Andrew pulled away from his brother, leaving his half-assed apology hanging in midair, blocking his blow. This was just a run of the mill goon. Andrew had fought men with more skill in their pinky fingers. Andrew took one hit, a jab to the shoulder, but the punch threw the man off balance, giving Andrew all the chance he needed to rush him, using his leverage to shove the man over the balcony.

One left now. Andrew’s haphazard shot on the floor below had apparently struck home, leaving its target still alive but curled on the floor around his wound. The last piece of the Butcher’s muscle had taken shelter behind the bar, and had busied himself taking shots up at the balcony, most of the bullets bouncing harmlessly off the railing.

Meanwhile, Neil and the Butcher still dueled, Neil’s father having backed him onto the darkened stage where the big band would normally play. Neil was bleeding from the right arm, a trickle of blood running over his wrist and onto the blade of the knife, but he was still holding his own. It did not escape Andrew how often Neil looked away from the fight and up to the balcony.

Andrew had his own role to play. If he moved fast, he could lend Neil a hand. “Stay here.” He told Aaron, handing him the stolen pistol before crouching behind the red oak banister and heading back for the ground floor.

The man behind the bar wasn’t a fantastic aim, but twice his shots came too close to Andrew for comfort. Andrew made it to the floor, taking shelter behind a table Neil and the Butcher had knocked over in their fighting. A bullet ricocheted off the marble floor near Andrew’s right foot, which he quickly pulled into cover. The goon was getting more ballsy, re-loading his gun and sending rapid-fire towards the table. 

Andrew considered himself lucky the Moriyama’s were so rich. If the table had been made out of wood of a lesser quality, it definitely wouldn’t have made such a good shield. Andrew poked his head out quickly, then ducked back down. Should he just wait for the man to have to stop and reload again?

The sharp sound of broken glass echoed through the room, a second blast of gunfire following on the tail of the first. Andrew looked up, startled, to find that Aaron had emerged from his own cover and was taking aim at the bar, shooting at the rows of liquor bottles behind the counter. The man was likewise distracted, spinning around to watch as the glass and alcohol cascaded down behind him. Andrew took the opportunity to make a run for the bar, leaping over the hurdle of the countertop and tackling the goon.

Andrew wasn’t feeling particularly merciful. Unsheathing a knife from his sleeve, he ran it between the man’s ribs, leaving him squirming on the liquor-soaked floor.

“Come on Nathaniel, you don’t mean it. You’ll grow out of this teenage rebellion eventually. I know I did.” The taunting sound of the Butcher’s voice rang through the room in the absence of gunshots, his battle with Neil now a thousand times louder. Andrew whipped around to watch them, both bleeding, Neil with a new black eye, his father limping somewhat on his left leg. Both still standing.

“I don’t need to explain to you why this is happening, why I won’t stop,” Neil hissed in reply, stumbling backwards to narrowly dodge a swipe of his father’s cleaver, “You very well fucking know why it has to be this way. You killed my mother. You took away any chance I ever had of having a normal goddamn life. You made me like you.”

“Why is that so bad?” His father spat back at him. “This is a cruel world, Nathaniel. We have it good. I made you like me for a reason.”

“You never fucking asked what I wanted!” Neil made a desperate lunge, aiming for the Butcher’s chest, but even at a distance Andrew could tell the blow was too direct. The Butcher moved faster, knocking the knife out of Neil’s hand and sending it clattering across the floor. With a hard kick, Neil was knocked down, landing with a thud on his back.

The Butcher loomed over Neil, cleaver in hand. “I should have known,” he said, almost sadly, “I should have amputated you from the start. Biological heir or not. I have other promising prodigies. Lola will make a perfect second in command. No one will miss you, Nathaniel. Didn’t you think of that? Maybe that detective, but he won’t last long enough to pass your memory along.”

Neil seethed, scrabbling backwards to try and grab Andrew’s knife. “Just fucking do it then, why don’t you? Stop talking, do it.”

But the killing blow never came. Andrew wrenched his knife from the side of the now comatose man laying on the floor, throwing it over the countertop of the bar. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the blade spun end over end, picking back up sharply as it pierced the Butcher’s side, burying itself to the hilt just below his ribs.

The Butcher cursed, grabbed at his side, but the hesitation was too long. Neil snatched his knife from the floor and sprang like an animal at the Butcher, plunging the entirety of the blade into the Butcher’s chest. For a moment there was a strange dance, the light going from the man’s eyes as he slumped against Neil, a clumsy waltz between unwilling partners before Neil shoved him back and his body hit the marble like a sack of offal. 

Andrew walked slowly to Neil’s side, but Neil did not move. He seemed suspended, raggedly catching his breath, not bothering to wipe the sweat and blood mingling on his cheek, his eyes focused somewhere distant. As Andrew stopped beside him, Neil blinked hard, and when he opened his eyes again he was laughing.

“Finally,” he rasped, and as he faced Andrew his shoulders were lighter, his eyes clearer. “Finally.”

“I understand,” Andrew replied quietly, casting the barest glance to the body on the floor. “What do we do with this?”

“Leave it there. I want everyone to know he’s not the Butcher anymore.” Neil snorted, nudging the body with his foot. “Not like I really am either. But these are the shoes I step into.”

“Andrew. Hey.” Aaron’s voice echoed from the balcony. “Stop flirting and let me look at you. You’re still my brother, even if you let me get kidnapped.”

Andrew sighed, nodding. “Maybe. And maybe I’m sorry.”

“You know what?” Aaron paused, halfway down the stairs. “That’s the most I’ve ever gotten out of you. I’ll take it.”

Aftermath: 1400 hours

It was eerie how quickly the storm had given way to blue sky and golden sunlight. The glow of light surrounded Trinity Church, reflecting off puddles of rainwater and stained glass windows alike. Neil, Andrew noted, was all too handsome in the light. There had been an incredible burden lifted from him, it seemed. As he stepped from the Victoria, his face was lit with the warm light and he stood, perfectly still, suspended in the radiance of it, and something within Andrew burst watching him.

“Don’t make me kiss you,” he said, reaching out for Neil’s hand.

Neil smirked. “Maybe that’s what I was going for. Don’t assume.”

Behind them, sliding out of the backseat, Aaron gagged. “I am already sick of this, by the way.”

“Well, you’re a doctor. You should know how to handle being sick.” Neil retorted, leaning down to give Andrew a quick, soft kiss. 

“Oh my god. We all almost died.” Aaron grumbled, pushing on ahead towards the church. “Please do this later.”

Sure enough, Renee and Allison were waiting for them inside, sitting in the back pew. They looked ruffled, but relatively unharmed. When Renee caught sight of Andrew, her eyes widened, but to her credit she didn’t make a fuss. “Thank god. You’re okay.” She sighed, standing and moving through shafts of sunlight to Andrew’s side. “I know you’re not a hugging man. But would it be alright if-”

Why not humor her? Truth be told, Andrew was relieved to see the both of them safe. Letting go of Neil’s hand, he stepped into Renee’s space, pulling her into an embrace. Surprised, Renee didn’t react for a moment, but when she realized what had happened she wrapped her arms around Andrew, gently but firmly holding him close.

“The Fleet Foxes live to fight another day,” Renee said with a smile as she pulled away, the light brilliant in her eyes, “as it should be.”


	18. No Matter What the Future Brings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all dropping the epilogue now,, six whole minutes early,, thank you readers for sticking with me until the end and letting me tell this story! It's been fun!

April 14th, 1933  
Five in the afternoon  
North End, Boston, Independence  
The Backward Pawn

Andrew still didn’t like to dance. The awkward crush of his body, the cloying presence of another, the confusion of movement. Unfamiliar hands, the crawling ghost of physical contact. He reflected on this as he swayed to the rhythm of a slow jazz tune, Neil’s hands on his waist, his arms around Neil’s shoulders. No, he did not like to dance. Unless it was with Neil.

Dan had the stage mostly to herself that night, and in an effort to support his friend, Neil had dragged everyone out of the Tower and down to the Backward Pawn to hear her play. Of course, from there it wasn’t difficult at all for him to convince Andrew to dance. Nearby, Renee and Allison moved past on the dance floor, Renee’s head tucked against Allison’s shoulder. Andrew tried to picture doing something similar to Neil, but his mind rebelled at the concept. Too soft. Not today.

“You alright?” Neil’s voice drew him back out of his reverie. “You looked kind of distracted. Everything…”

“Everything’s alright.” Andrew confirmed. “Just thinking.”

“About what? Our latest case?” Neil smiled, a warm and fleeting thing. These days, it showed itself more and more often. Neil had been under a bit of stress trying to adjust to his new role, both as the new Butcher and as a Moriyama pawn, but he was in the clear now. His father’s lackeys had fallen into line one by one, with or without their grievances. Today, Neil had been invited to tag along with Andrew and Renee to their next investigation, a wife concerned about her possibly cheating husband.

Andrew shrugged. “Not so much. Honestly this one is pretty cut and dry, in my opinion. Not anywhere near as complicated as murder. But we’ll get you there.”

Neil snorted, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Was that dramatic irony I sensed?”

“Maybe just a little.” Andrew grinned, feeling smug.

Once the song ended, Andrew slid his arms back from Neil’s shoulders. “I think I need a drink, my head is starting to feel funny again.” So perhaps numbing nicotine withdrawal with alcohol wasn’t the best way to quit smoking, but it was working well enough so far. As time went on hopefully he would get better at fighting the urge to go crawling back to cigarettes. For the time being, a good strong drink was usually enough to make Andrew forget his craving. He hadn’t smoked since that morning on the beach.

Neil nodded, letting him go. “Yeah, go on, I’ll go back to our table and wait.”

Andrew wiggled through the crowd, ordering a rum and coke at the bar. Somehow he was craving the flavor. As he scooped up his tumbler, taking the first sip, he felt the sudden presence of someone leaning on the bar beside him, shadow cast into his space. “Andrew Minyard, we need to talk.” Kevin Day said, in a very matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t have a lot of time, but while I’m here I need to say a few things.”

Turning, Andrew looked Kevin up and down. He looked no different than when Andrew had last seen him. “Alright. Maybe I’m getting soft, but I’ll hear you out. Say your piece.”

“Not here.” Kevin led Andrew away from the bar, into one of the billiards rooms. It was dim and calm, only the faint smell of a cigar giving any indication the room had previously been in use.

“I know David Wymack is your father.” Andrew said, bluntly, once the door had closed behind them. “Don’t look so shocked. This is my entire job; figuring things out is what I do all day. I’m not going to pretend I want your whole sob story, and I don’t need it. I’m just saying I think I understand. Now it’s your turn. Go.”

To Kevin Day’s credit, he managed to swallow his shock almost instantly. “Well. Okay. I can’t say I’m flattered that you pried, but I’m not offended. What I wanted to say is I’d like to keep working with you. You should know by now I’m every bit as opposed to the way the Moriyama family uses their power as my father is. You and Josten have a unique position. You have skills, he has influence. With your help, I think we could significantly limit the sway the Moriyama family has over Independence. Especially Riko. I spend nearly every day around him, and trust me, he isn’t getting any less unstable or controlling.”

Andrew rocked back on his heels, thinking Kevin’s words over. “You want our help to sabotage the Moriyama’s? What do we get?”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “The knowledge that you’re doing something good for this city and the people in it?”

“Fair enough. I’m used to working towards physical rewards. I do have to eat.” Andrew shrugged. What did he have to lose? What Kevin was suggesting was logical. If anything, the Moriyama’s deserved to get knocked down a peg or ten. “But you have a point. Here.” Andrew handed Kevin a Fleet Foxes business card. “If you want any favors, just call.”

Looking surprised, Kevin pocketed the card. “Really? That was easier than I thought.”

“Really. I must be in a generous mood today.” Andrew started back for the door, drink in hand. “I’m going now, there’s a man waiting at my table for me.” Not waiting around to hear Kevin’s reply, Andrew pushed back out into the bar, quickly finding his way back to Neil’s table. He would tell Neil about his encounter with Kevin later. For right now, he just wanted to enjoy his night out in relative peace.

Neil, Renee and Allison were all waiting for him when he returned, Allison holding a conversation with Neil over a very large glass of rosé. “So, you’re telling me you’ve never picked your own suits?” She asked, eyebrows creased worryingly together.

“I mean, I always get a second opinion? I’ve been told when I dress myself it’s kind of a mess. When I was little my mother once said I was pattern blind, or something like that.” Neil winced, looking down at his dark grey dress shirt. “I usually go for grey because that matches with anything… right?”

“Not everything. Shit, Andrew. Are you listening to this?” Allison sighed, shaking her head.

“I am going to have to see your closet at some point.” Andrew snorted, sitting beside Neil. “I think you might need help. All this time I’ve been admiring your outfits, not even knowing you had help behind the scenes…”

“What are you, the fashion police?” Neil sounded beleaguered, but there was a faint smile on his lips.

Andrew shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “I could change my job description right now. From here on out I’m only a private eye for clothes.”

“Andrew come on, play nice.” Renee rolled her eyes. “He’s trying his best! And I don’t think the clothes are what you like about him most.”

Andrew’s hand found Neil’s beneath the table. Warm, rough with scar tissue. For once in Andrew’s life, it felt so right for his body to come together with another’s, his fingers finding their usual place interwoven with Neil’s. He squeezed, lightly. Neil squeezed back.

“Oh, no,” Andrew replied, speaking to Renee, meeting Neil’s eyes, “I like him for more things than his appearance. That’s for sure. I’m not a complete superficial asshole.”

Outside, a flurry of delicate snowflakes brushed against the window like diamond dust, and beyond, in the rapidly darkening sky, the city lights were coming into radiant focus. The room was full of music, full of life. The city had stayed largely the same, Andrew reflected. At the end of the day, all that had really changed was himself. 

Later that night, Andrew told Neil all the other reasons he liked him. And every part of it was true.


End file.
